


if you love me, come clean

by Athgalla



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Breaking Up & Making Up, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Memory Loss, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Ford, Psychological Trauma, and so much more! - Freeform, featuring adventures in internships and academic conference shenanigans, megayearning Fidds, they're just dorks in love with science and each other, this fic is a mess but it is my mess and I love it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 90,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athgalla/pseuds/Athgalla
Summary: This is pretty much just a collection of various moments and possible events throughout Fiddleford and Stanford's relationship that I felt like exploring, starting with their first proper meeting in college on to post-Weirdmageddon events.Without further ado, on to the tragically star-crossed nerds!
Relationships: Emma-May Dixon/Fiddleford H. McGucket, Fiddleford H. McGucket/Ford Pines
Comments: 107
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

Ford set his paper down, straightening out the stack before fixing his jacket over his shoulders and heading out of the lecture hall. Eyes down, he nearly tripped forward trying to push the door, only to find it being held open. He flicked his gaze up with a nervous thank you and dip of his head before carrying on. The other student simply nodded curtly, letting it clack shut behind them.

“That was a doozy, huh?” came the easy drawl as they found themselves heading in the same direction down the hall. Ford glanced over at him again. He’d seen this guy enough times. They had a few classes together and he was fairly sure he’d seen him on the same floor of his dorm building. They’d spoken briefly a couple times in class, even, but for the life of him Ford couldn’t recall his name or if they’d ever even exchanged that information.

He tried not to overthink it.

“Yeah, kinda, heheh,” Ford responded nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Got any other midterms after this one?”

“Actually, no. That was my last one, thankfully.”

“Ach, you’re lucky, then. I got two more.”

Ford had pushed on ahead to hold the door on their way outside now, not thinking of it, “Ah. Well, I hope they go well for you,”

Why was this guy being so chatty all of a sudden? Ford was positive they’d hardly exchanged five words before. It wasn’t that Ford hadn’t noticed him – he seemed kind enough and caught Ford’s attention by having the maddening but wonderful tendency to ask questions during lectures that gave Ford plenty to mull over and chew on for awhile. If he was being honest, he often found himself jealous of not thinking of the same thing as quickly or at all whenever he piped up.

“Thanks, I’ll need it.” He grinned, craning his neck a bit to light up a cigarette and shielding his lighter from the wind with his hand. He blew a stream of smoke into the evening air and cast a sidelong look at Ford, “Say, you want one, too? You looked a bit haggard on your way out back there.”

Something about those bright blue eyes in the warm light of the streetlight that had just flickered to life had the “Yeah, sure, why not?” tumbling out faster than Ford expected. As soon as he said it, wordlessly a hand shot out offering him a cigarette and a beat up old lighter. Ford nearly fumbled as he took them, cracked an apologetic grin, and as luck would have it, struggled a few times to get it lit.

He handed the lighter back, “Th-thanks, uh-“

The other student took it back and pocketed it, “Yer Stanferd, right?”

Ford jolted, “Uh, yeah! That’s me, hahah… I’m so sorry, I know we’ve spoken before, but I can’t say I recall your name.”

“Shoot, well, that’s probably my fault for being ungentlemanly. Where are my manners? Fiddleford McGucket.” He stuck his hand out and easily took Ford’s in a firm shake.

“Nice to properly meet you, then, Fiddleford! Stanford Pines.” Ford forced a chipper smile, feeling Fiddleford’s eyes trail to his hand and follow it curiously as they separated. He braced himself for the inevitable question, but it never came, Fiddleford seeming to be attempting to pay no mind to it. They mirrored each other, both taking a drag and letting out a tired sigh.

Fiddleford spoke again, “Well, it was nice to properly meet you, too. I gotta work early tomorrow and still have some studying to do, so I’d better take off.” He tugged his jacket more snugly around himself, “You heading back to Swanson, too?”

Ford had hardly noticed they’d paused together outside the building, “Yeah, actually. I thought I’d seen you around! Guess we’re heading in the same direction, then?”

“Guess so.” Fiddleford smiled softly.

They fell into an easy pace alongside each other, the light breeze ruffling their hair and sending leaves skittering across the sidewalk. There was a silence before Fiddleford snorted roughly, “Pfft, so, what about that essay question at the end? That was ridiculous!”

“You thought so, too? What was he even asking?”

“Hell if I know. I think I got it, but I’m a bit nervous, to tell the truth.”

Ford chuckled, taking another drag off his cigarette, “Same. The rest seemed easy, so hopefully it’s not a big deal. I feel better knowing it wasn’t just me thinking the phrasing was really poor on that last one, though. I was starting to question where my head had gone by the tenth time I read it.”

“Ditto! Say, where you from?”

“New Jersey. You?”

“Tennessee. My family has a farm a few hours from Knoxville. Where in New Jersey?”

“Glass Shard Beach. And I heard it’s pretty out there,”

“Interestin’. And it sure is. I miss it. I’ve actually never been this far from home before, or around so many people. It’s been an adjustment.”

“Yeah, it sounds like it. I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly had time to think of home, heh. Maybe I’m overdoing it. And all my midterms got crammed practically back to back somehow! I’m relieved they’re out of the way, though.” Ford hesitated for a moment, “I, uh, what’s your major, Fiddleford?”

Fiddleford took another drag, “Mechanical engineering, for now at least. I like it a lot, but I might switch it? I really don’t know yet.”

“What to?”

Fiddleford shrugged, “Not sure. Electrical engineering, maybe? It’s a tough choice, though. How about you?”

Ford looked at the sidewalk, fidgeting with the edges of his pockets as they walked, “Um, well, right now I’m double majoring in zoology and physics. I know that sounds like a weird combination, heh. If I can manage it, it’d be nice to at least get a math minor, too, that’s not even covering everything else I want to do. When I was signing up for classes, I saw some really interesting literature and history courses I’d love to take if I can,” he sighed, , half in frustration, half in longing, “There’s just too much cool stuff and not enough hours in a day or days in a year!”

Fiddleford stifled a giggle, “Oh, bless your heart. Sounds like you got gumption!”

“I, uh, I suppose I do!”

Fiddleford fished around for his keys as they approached the dorm, pulling the door open for Ford, “Yeah. Don’t go getting over your head, though. Some guy next door to me that comes to Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons is kinda like that, and frankly, I worry for the guy sometimes.”

Ford mustered his most charismatic grin and wink, “Not everyone works well under pressure. I, however, do. Wait… did you say Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons?”

“Yeah, why?” Fiddleford cast a look over his shoulder to where Ford was trailing behind him up the stairs, “Do you play?”

Ford was already struggling to contain his excitement, “I always wanted to, at least. I never could find anyone who was into it back home, though.”

“Shucks, I know that feeling! Try being in the sticks. Well, there’s a few of us that just got started a few weeks ago. We’ve just been doing a short little campaign that’s wrapping up soon, so if you want to join us your timing’s perfect. We usually meet in the lobby downstairs ‘round six on Friday, if that works for you. If not, I don’t see why it’d be any trouble to work something out.”

“Wow, are you serious?” Ford beamed at him incredulously, taking the next few steps a bit more briskly, “You really mean I can join?”

Fiddleford laughed, “Well, of course! Why else am I sayin’ so? We don’t have many people yet, anyway.”

Ford could have sworn his smile could rend his face asunder, “That’s great! That sounds really, really great. Thank you! I got one of the rulebooks as soon as it came out and I’ve looked through it so many times, heheh. Hopefully I’d be able to jump in without holding anyone back too much. I’ve got dice, too!”

“Sounds like you’re just about all set, then. And no worries if you do have questions or anything, I came in pretty much blind but the other two guys in the group know their stuff and are pretty helpful. Randall and Charles, if you know ‘em.”

Ford paused at his door now, “I don’t, but that’s good news! Wait, are you on this floor, too?”

“Yeah, two doors down from you.”

“Huh. Wouldn’t fate have it that way?”

“Suppose so! I thought I’d seen you comin’ and goin’ a few times. You get in late a lot, don’t you? That sounded weird. I don’t stay in my room too much, so I’m usually tucked into that corner riiight over there,” he gestured to a little, rough looking table in the corner of the small lobby in the corner past Ford’s door.

Ford made a face, “Yeesh, doesn’t that get annoying with people coming and going all the time and making all kinds of racket?”

“Sometimes, but it sure beats being cooped up with my roommate. Pretty sure the guy’s got dust for brains, if that. He’s nosy, kinda rude, and not careful around any of my stuff. I swear if I catch him screwing around with my tools or messing with my banjo again, I’ll have his hide for a trophy.”

Ford chuckled, “I don’t even know the guy and I’m annoyed for you. I lucked out and weaseled my way into a single room. I’m feeling even more grateful for that right now. Anyway, um… if you’d like to stop by and talk more about dungeons, dungeons, and more dungeons or something, feel free. I don’t have much going on the next couple days, at least.”

“I do.” Fiddleford blew his bangs out of his face in exasperation, then cracked a grin, “Just kiddin’. I only work tomorrow and I’m probably fine if I just give my notes a once over. Anyway, I’ll do that. Or, y’know, you know where to find me now, so long as you don’t mind hanging out with some cobwebs and dead roly-polies.”

“Heheh, loud and clear. Well, I’ll let you get going. It was nice talking to you, I hope we can again soon!” 

“Don’t reckon that’ll be an issue. Goodnight, Stanferd Pines!”

“Night!” 

Ford slipped into his room and clicked the door shut, leaning against it and taking a deep breath. The jitters seemed to hit him all at once. Finally, a Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons campaign! And a conversation with someone actually half interesting and, apparently, nice enough! Or so he hoped. A wash of apprehension came over him, running hot and static in his blood. He kicked off his shoes and grabbed the latest book he’d been reading, flopping unceremoniously onto his bed in hopes of pushing away the nerves. 

Fiddleford, meanwhile, was glad to find the room empty tonight. A grin breaking out over his face, he pulled out his banjo, startling when a neighbor banged on the wall. He blushed, calling out a quick, “Sorry!”, and tried to keep it down. 

Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep his leg still. Hopefully the folks downstairs would be more forgiving.

  
  


A couple days later, Ford caught a glimpse of Fiddleford curled up in his corner as he left his room and, without thinking, shot up a hand in a nervous wave. Fiddleford didn’t notice, hunched over a stack of paper, face rigid in concentration as he dragged his pencil down alongside a ruler. He set it aside for a compass, bouncing his knee a few times as he adjusted it before scrawling an arc over the paper. Ford found himself watching him curiously, hesitating a bit before deciding it was better to not bother him. He knew he’d be ready to kill if anyone broke his focus, may as well be courteous. Besides, another second without lunch and he swore he might collapse. 

When Ford returned, Fiddleford was still there. How many hours had it been? Had he even moved? 

Fiddleford leaned back in his chair, stretching with a yawn. He noticed Ford and cracked a smile, “Oh, hey. How’s it going?” 

Ford wandered over, trying to take as nonchalant of a sip as he could from his soda, “Good, good. I was at the library for a few hours.” 

“I’ve been here a few hours.” 

“I know. I saw you on my way out for lunch.” 

“Oh.” Fiddleford paused, then laughed, “Well, you coulda said hi!” 

Ford blushed, “You looked focused, I didn’t want to interrupt you!” 

Fiddleford sighed, letting his chin drop into his hand, “Not like that’s gettin’ me anywhere.” 

Ford glanced to see an overflow of crumpled papers in the bin near the table and a few scattered on the floor, “Oh. What are you working on?” 

“Stuff. Kajiggers. Machines. Whatever, really.” 

He hesitated, unsure of whether to press, “Really? That sounds pretty cool, actually.” 

“You think so, huh? Anyway, how’s making that character for Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons been goin’?” 

Ford grinned, “Good, actually! I think I’m almost ready, if you want to look over what I have.” 

Fiddleford returned the smile, relaxing a bit more, “Glad to hear it. I gotta take off for my last midterm in a couple minutes here, but when I get back I can stop by if you’ll be around.” 

“Yeah, that would be perfect, actually! If you don’t mind, at least.” 

“Naw, this is the fun stuff!” Fiddleford got to his feet, taking the papers that were strewn on the floor and stuffing them into the bin before grabbing his bag, “I’ll hurry back soon as I’m done. Seeya in a bit!”

“Seeya, and good luck!” 

A couple hours later, Fiddleford had returned, taking a deep breath before knocking on Ford’s door. Ford was there in a flash, bright eyed and fidgety as he let him in. 

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Fiddleford remarked, looking at the chaotic arrangement of shelves and stacks of books scattered around the tiny dorm. 

“I’m not sure if that’s sarcasm or not.” Ford muttered bluntly, sitting on his bed and pulling out a notebook and a few loose sheets covered in notes that he had tucked into his rulebook. 

“I’m not kiddin’! It reminds me of a nice little library.” Fiddleford joined him, tucking his legs under himself and leaning forward like an excited puppy, “Anyway, I’m here now. So, whatcha got?” 

Ford scratched at the back of his head, notes spread out between them, “It was really hard to decide. I’m thinking of being a half elf ranger,” 

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” 

“I liked the rimrunner subclass-” 

“Which is that one again?” 

Ford grinned, “Okay, so I have time to decide on that, since I can’t pick that till I’m level 3, but that’s what I think I’m gonna do once I’m there: Rimrunner rangers can detect nearby portals and extraplanar threats. It sounds really cool! Once you hit level 8, you can even travel between planes, and later on you can use that ability to avoid damage in battle by essentially clipping through spacetime.”

Fiddleford nodded, “I like it, I like it. Got a backstory?” 

Ford could hardly contain his grin, “Oh, do I! Okay. Okay. I’m a far traveler in search of knowledge to bring back to a great library in my home country. I’ve been on a long, daunting journey for years now, talking with bards, scholars, and anyone else who will give me the time of day, though sometimes trouble brews, what with language barriers and other cultural boundaries. I started by traveling along the coast, having grown up there, I know plenty about work around dockyards and ships, so I help where I can in exchange for food, shelter, and stories and information to record. One day, I heard tell of a great, mysterious beast farther inland and decided to set out in search of it. The rumors I hear along the way claim it suddenly appeared in recent months, and no records seem to exist of it before then. And then… then, well, I guess I meet the rest of the party along the way.” 

“What do you want to do with this beast, if you find it?” 

“Study it, and if it’s dangerous, slay it and bring its head to the people it’s been terrorizing. If it’s manageable, I want to take evidence of it back to the library. I, um, I still need to pick a name for my character, though.” Ford grinned softly, “But, I did draw him! Here,” he flipped a page in his notebook, shoving it forward, “I did that pretty quick though, so it’s a little messy.” 

Fiddleford took it, adjusting his glasses, “Shoot, Stanferd, I didn’t know you were an artist, too!” 

Ford laughed sheepishly, tugging at the collar of his shirt, “Yeah, I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember.” 

Fiddleford handed the notebook back, “Same here, actually. Used to doodle the critters I saw around the farm a lot, and like you saw, designing stuff I got ideas for.” 

“I’d love to see them sometime, if you’d let me,” 

Fiddleford’s leg was twitching again in an almost-bounce, as much as he could with how he was sitting, “Maybe, they’re all just doodles, though. If I can dig out some good ones, I’ll show ya sometime. Anyway, I’m sure Randall and Charles are going to like your character. From what Randall was on about, sounds like you’ll round us out nice for his campaign.” 

“Glad to hear it. I can’t wait!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with what I assume is first edition DDAMD, heheh. I'm a sucker for horizon walkers in 5e and it seems like a nice way to touch on a liiiittle bit of foreshadowing for our dear Ford to allude to that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the more chaotic assemblages of random little interactions, feat. Ford having terrible sleep habits, Fidds realizing he may just possibly maybe kind of potentially have a crush, and these dorks realizing they'd really both be better off if they could get a dorm together.

The days moved along. The spring moon hung high in the sky, Fiddleford curled up on the floor with his notes spread out in front of him, running his fingers through his bangs and tugging lightly at them over and over. This had become routine in the past few months, with Fiddleford often finding himself in Ford’s room to study or seek out respite from his roommate’s latest irritating behavior. Ford had already let his room become something of a safe for a handful of Fiddleford’s things while he tried to create new lock systems for his banjo case and prized toolset. 

Fiddleford tapped his pencil to his chin, fingers currently buried in his hair.

“Hey, Stanferd, can I run something by you to make sure I’m understanding it right?” 

Nothing.

“Stanferd. Hey.” Fiddleford finally glanced up from his notes, finding Ford slouched awkwardly over his desk, face nestled into his arms and very much asleep. He rolled his eyes with a soft smile, “Of course  _ now _ you pass out on me, when I need yer dang help.” 

However Ford managed to fall asleep in such seemingly uncomfortable places was a mystery in itself, but Fiddleford wasn’t going to deal with the stream of complaints about neck pain like last time this happened. He sighed and set his books aside, getting to his feet and clasping a hand over Ford’s shoulder to shake him lightly, “Bud. Get to bed lest you’re mighty sore tomorrow, and I’m not hearin’ any bellyachin’ out of you again.” 

Ford blearily raised his head, a piece of paper stuck to it, “Nhh? Fuck off…” 

“Shucks. You’re always so rude when you’re half asleep. C’mon. I’ll carry you if I have to.” Without waiting much for a response, he tried to heft Ford up, only to be shoved away in an uncoordinated flail. 

“Mhni gottit…” Ford growled, nearly tripping over a stack of books and practically faceplanting into bed, “g’night, Fi-… whatever.” 

“You still got a paper stuck to your face.” 

“S’important one, then.” 

“Alright, I gotcha.” Fiddleford dropped his books into his bag and slung it over his shoulder, “I’ll letcha get some rest. See you tomorrow, Stanferd.” 

“Ngh…” 

“Goodnight to you, too.” 

That had become routine, too. Fiddleford tutted as he made his way back to his room, hoping his own roommate was asleep by now. 

\---

Ford was broken from his reading by a familiar knock. With a stretch, he got up to answer it. 

Fiddleford stood before him, face twisted in irritation, “Hey. Can I hang out here again?” 

Ford blinked, “Uh, sure? I can’t really talk much tonight, though, I have a lot of work to finish.” 

“Since when did I care?” 

“True. But that means a veto on stress banjo playing for tonight.” 

Fiddleford pulled a face, “Uuuugh, fine.” 

“What’d he do now?” 

“Booted me out the damn room so he can get frisky with his girl. Guess her own roommate’s sick of ‘em doing it there. I oughta find out who her roommate is and make friends, send her my condolences.” 

Ford shook his head, “Huh. That does sound annoying.” 

Fiddleford dropped his bag to the ground and started digging through it, “Whatever. I got stuff to work on, too, which is why I’m so annoyed. I honestly wouldn’t even care if he’d be more polite about it. I get it, I do. Eh, I’ll just go back in a little bit and things should be calmed down.” 

A little bit later, Fiddleford returned. 

“What’s the situation?” 

“He forgot to lock the damn door and I got an eyeful.” 

“Oh, ouch.” 

“Not what I wanted to see tonight or ever.” 

“Did they notice?” 

“Nope.” 

“Of course.”

“Yup.” 

Ford mulled something over for a moment, “Do you just want to stay here tonight? I’m almost done with my homework and was just going to read for awhile, anyway.” 

Fiddleford cracked a tired smile, “That’d actually be a blessin’ right now. I gotta finish fixin’ up a paper yet.”

Ford snorted in amusement, “How many drafts in are you?” 

Fiddleford looked at his feet and mumbled, “...six.” 

Ford opened his mouth to speak. 

Fiddleford cut in again, “Hey! This is my last one this time. I swear. It’s almost perfect,” 

“With your track record, it already is.” 

“Quiet, you!” 

A few more hours passed in silence, Ford occasionally glancing over at Fiddleford from his bed as he worked. The warm light from the desk lamp tinged him in gold, brow furrowed in concentration, knee bouncing as usual. Fiddleford finally set his pen down, stretching his legs and cracking his neck. 

“Are you almost done? Every time I look at you being so studious it makes me antsy, like I have to get up and start working twice as hard,” Ford chuffed. 

Fiddleford laughed, throwing a crumpled piece of paper at him,“Well quit admirin’ me, then! Anyway, yeah, I think I got ‘er wrapped up. I’m too tired to keep going anyway. It’s been a rough week.” 

“It’s Tuesday.” Ford caught the paper easily, casting it aside without missing a beat. 

“I know.” 

Ford tutted under his breath, “Just come to bed, then. You can borrow some clothes from me if you want.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s not a problem. I should have extra pajamas on that first drawer under the closet.” 

Fiddleford shrugged, pulling open the drawer in question, “I’ll just steal some pants from ya, then. Thanks!” 

Ford gave a noncommittal grunt and scooted over when Fiddleford returned, practically mushed into the wall to give him room to climb in next to him, “Yeesh, I didn’t realize how seriously tiny these beds are.” 

“I can sleep on your floor if you want, you know?” 

“Absolutely not. It’s fine,” 

“I’ll try not to cuddle you.” 

Ford elbowed him lightly with a laugh. 

Somehow, that honestly didn’t sound too bad. Nevermind it, though. 

“Have you signed up for classes for next fall yet?” Fiddleford inquired. 

“Not yet, I’m supposed to go do that tomorrow. You?” 

“Gonna get that done Thursday.” 

“Hey, by the way, I have an idea.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Why don’t we just see if we can be roomed together next year?” 

Fiddleford brightened up, “Serious? I thought you liked bein’ alone.” 

Ford grinned, turning to face him, “Yeah. You give me space when I need it, I give you yours. I think it’d be fine. Besides, you’re… well, motivational once you get going on something. That might be good once classes get harder.” 

Fiddleford considered this, “Huh. That’s true. You sure I ain’t gonna drive you batty?” 

“Do you really want to risk getting stuck with  _ that  _ again?” 

Fiddleford shuddered, “Okay, point made. The worst you do is have your snappy little perfectionist fits. And make a fire hazard out of your book stack mazes.” 

“You do, too.” 

“Exactly, so we’d be hypocritical to be too irritated about that.” 

“Touche. Well, let’s bring it up and see what they can do, huh?” 

“Sounds like a plan to me.” 

Ford smiled and rolled over, “Excellent. Well, goodnight, I guess.” 

“Amazing. You’re actually going to try sleeping at a vaguely reasonable hour. Maybe it really will be good for you to have me around, heh.” 

“ _ Goodnight, Fiddleford. _ ” 

“‘Night.” 

Ford half woke at some point to a distinct lack of blanket. Replacing it was a lanky arm over his back and a leg hooked around his. 

Somehow, that was just fine. 

For once, he didn’t fully wake and scuttle off to find something to do. Instead, not fully cognizant, he shifted a little closer to the warmth next to him and dozed off again. 

He wasn’t sure, but for a second, he thought maybe Fiddleford’s arm tightened around him. 

Somehow, that was just fine. 

By the time his alarm went off, Fiddleford was curled precariously close to the edge of the bed, having stolen the entire blanket and wound it around himself. He didn’t recall waking up at all in the middle of the night, perhaps a first. Ford sat up, scratching at his head and trying to determine a good way to scoot off the end of the bed to avoid demanding Fiddleford move, but the stacks of books and miscellaneous items there didn’t make that an easy feat. Fiddleford rolled over to blink sleepily at him. 

“Mornin’.” 

“Morning. Having fun stealing my blanket?” 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Ford managed to evade the maze of books, digging around his closet for clothes. Fiddleford, still struggling to boot up, watched him lazily as he tugged off the old t-shirt he’d had on and got to replacing it with a button up. 

_ Oh. _

Whatever fuzzy realization came crashing through Fiddleford’s brain, it woke him up. He buried his face into the blanket, wiping his hands down his face. He kicked out at the air and smacked his knee, tucking his leg back up against himself. Heaving a breath, he finally cast off the blanket and sat up, stretching and rolling his shoulders before fumbling for where he’d left his glasses on the nightstand. 

Getting a clearer look at Ford wasn’t helping right now. 

Ford finished pulling a vest on and was now clutching some pants. They blinked at each other, both tousle-haired and prickly faced in the soft light that slanted in through the window. 

“Um.” 

“Right.” Fiddleford cast his eyes to the side, letting Ford finish getting dressed. 

“Do you need to get anything from your room? I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee and breakfast together before class. If you have time.” 

Fiddleford cleared his throat, “Y-yeah, that’d be nice. I got everything in my bag right now and I can just wear yesterday’s clothes, so I’m fine to take off in a few here. Union?” 

“I heard talk that that cafe a few blocks away is actually really good if you want to stop there.” 

“Oh yeah, they opened just a few weeks ago, didn’t they?” 

“Well, do you want to try it?” 

Fiddleford had gotten up now, retrieving his pants from the chair he’d tossed them over, “Yeah, that’d be nice. Let me just make sure I have my wallet. Okay. We’re golden. Also, I hate to be a pest, but can I borrow a comb? My hair gets matted real quick if I’m not careful.” 

“Huh? Sure. Here, catch,” 

“Thanks,” he set to roughly teasing out the knots that had already managed to form, looking a bit like a mildly irritated cat trying to groom, “One sec. I gotta piss like a racehorse, then we can go.” 

“Hurry it up, because same here.” 

“I will, I will,” Fiddleford shouldered his way into the bathroom. Before leaving, he splashed water on his face, running his fingers through his hair, doing his best not to tug at it too much, hoping that cold water or waking up a bit would snap him out of it.

It wasn’t doing a thing. 

He could have seen this coming had he wanted to, he figured, but right now it felt as if he’d driven a car clean off a cliff. 

He snorted in amusement to himself. Well, it was still early. He hadn’t had coffee yet. He was homesick and the semester was ending and Ford had, by all accounts, been very welcoming. There was just a lot going on. 

It was probably totally normal for your best friend to steal your breath for a second and leave you feeling some sort of way at six am on a Wednesday, right? 

Whatever. That new coffee shop sounded nice, and coffee fixed things and helped them make sense again. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's also a fairly jumbled assortment of things occurring around their 2nd year of undergrad. Ford and Fidds successfully get a dorm together, a bit of Ford trying to figure out ways to help Fidds with anxiety stuff + brief feels jamming, and a discussion about prospective winter break plans.

“Well, if it isn’t Stanferd Pines!” Fiddleford turned with a grin as Ford entered, arms overladen. Ford managed to get into the room and start setting things aside. Fiddleford set the screwdriver in his hands aside and hurried to take a few things from Ford before returning to finish fixing a shelf to the wall. 

“Last I checked, that’s who I am. How was your summer?” Ford set to work unpacking. 

Fiddleford shrugged, “It was fine. Back to farm work and I spent a lot of time with my family. Some of the hogs had gotten out when I got back, wouldn’t luck have it like that? That was a lot of chaos. Heh! So much for a relaxing welcome home, but it was a nice dose of excitement. Went fishin’ with Emma May n’ them a lot, too. How was it bein’ stuck up here?” 

Ford grinned, “It was pretty exciting! Well, in the lab, at least. The rest was… less exciting. Dr. Thibideau’s new graduate student is really nice. Her name’s Marie. I ended up helping out on her project a lot, too.” 

Fiddleford was glad he was facing the wall at the moment, “Uh-huh? What’s she like?” 

Ford kept rifling through his bags, “Really sweet and really smart. We like the same coffee, so that’s convenient! But she’s a hard worker, she makes me feel like I’m slacking. Dr. Thibideau picks his students well, which… man, what am  _ I  _ doing there? I feel so lame being the one undergraduate in his lab right now. I hope they don’t all think I’m a huge pest,” 

Fiddleford grumbled around a screw he was holding in his mouth, “Mmhmm…” he took it out, got it into the wall, and stepped back to make sure he’d gotten the shelf level, “Sounds like you got a crush, don’t ya?” 

Ford blinked, “Huh?” 

“Man, don’t play coy on me,”

Ford laughed, shaking his head, “No, no, Fiddleford. She’s just nice to work with. She’s engaged, anyway. I just like her more than James because he snaps at me too much.” he sighed, “Asking him questions feels like sticking your hand in a bear’s jaw, even if he does good work. I hope I’m not that neurotic by the time I’m working on my Ph. D” 

Fiddleford grimaced, still not terribly relieved, “Well, that’s good. Anyway, I got some shelves put up for us. I figured between the two of us, we’d need ‘em.” 

“Aren’t we not supposed to put more holes in the wall?” 

Fiddleford looked off to the side with a cheeky grin, “I can fix it. They won’t even know.” 

“What about the wallpaper?” 

“Plaster and some sneaky paint.” 

Ford chuckled, “This is why I like you. I’ll be back in a bit, I’ve got a couple boxes in my car that I brought back from home.” 

“You need a hand with any of it?” 

“Nah, it’s not much.” 

Ford returned not long after, digging out a few stacks of books from the boxes he’d brought back.

“Even more?” Fiddleford inquired, amused. 

“What else do you expect from me?” 

“That’s for sure. I almost forgot you were back up in New Jersey the past couple weeks. How’s your mom n’ them?” 

“Everyone’s doing fine, same as always, I guess. Heheh. It was nice to stop back for a bit since I didn’t over winter.” Ford scratched at his hair, grabbing a few of the books and putting them up on a shelf over the bed Fiddleford had apparently not claimed for himself. 

Fiddleford sat down, surveying how they’d arranged everything and watched Ford as he finished sorting through his things, “Y’know, the more I look at it, the more your little bookshelf nest-cave-amajig thing looks terribly cozy.” 

“It really is. It’s almost like a fort.” 

“You got good taste, Pines.” 

“Who  _ doesn’t  _ like forts? That’s all I’m saying.” 

“Well, I’m agreein’ with you!” 

“I think I could give you clearance if you want to come study over here when I’m gone…” Ford trailed off, disappearing behind the wall of bookshelves surrounding his rickety little desk to finish putting things away, “But, you have to guess the password.” 

Fiddleford let out an amused sigh, sauntering over and leaning against one of the shelves, “Djeetyet?” 

“That’s not it! And, well, no, I haven’t. Anyway, guess the password!” 

“Hootenanny.” 

“You’re not even trying! Ugh, fine, it’ll be hootenanny.” 

Fiddleford laughed, “You’re really somethin’ else. Anyway, c’mon, you wanna get some food?” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice!” 

\---

Ford jumped when Fiddleford slammed his pencil down with a rapid mutter. He kicked out of his chair and set to pacing. Ford watched cautiously. Fiddleford paused over his desk again, stared at his papers, hissed something under his breath, and went back to pacing, hands knotting up in his hair. 

“Fiddleford?” 

He didn’t answer. 

Ford tried again, “Hey, are you okay? What’s going on?” 

Fiddleford dropped back into his chair, bouncing his leg quickly. He waved his hand, voice terse, “Nothing, it’s fine. I’m just a little stuck on something.” 

Ford didn’t say anything more, but kept an eye on him. It wasn’t that odd for Fiddleford to work himself up a bit, but not to this extent. At least, not that he’d seen. 

Fiddleford was quiet, flipping through a book with one hand. The other stayed in his hair where he pulled it through a bit harder each time. He snaked his fingers up into the amber locks again and yanked, tearing a small clump out. 

He muttered under his breath again, bouncing his leg harder on the floor. 

Ford sat up on his bed, setting his book aside, “Hey, um,” 

“ _ What.”  _

Ford approached nervously, jumping at the bite in his voice, “What’s up?” 

“Nothing. This just ain’t comin’ out right and this paper’s worth a lot, and I gotta finish it tonight.” Fiddleford was struggling to hide his shallow, nervous breathing, “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, I’m fine, I swear.” 

“I know what you look like when you’re getting worked up.” 

Fiddleford’s hands were in his hair again, tugging hard as his breath came strained, words not quite forming as well as he wanted, “I just, I just… I’ve been, I’vebeenworkingonitforaweeknow and this stupid! I can’t. None of it sounds right. Can’t organize it nice like.” he growled something, grabbed an empty soda bottle to spit out his dip, rapped his hands on his knees and once again snaked them up to his hair. 

And tugged with a huff. Too hard. 

Ford winced, grabbing Fiddleford’s hands urgently, “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t do that,” 

Fiddleford stared at him blankly, breath no better than shallow panting. He swallowed with effort, still thumping his foot in a skittish staccato on the floor, “Sorry. S-sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no. It’s alright. Just quit pulling at your hair, you’ve been tearing out chunks.” 

“I know!! I know that! Do I look blind to you? Do I look stupid?!” 

“What? No? What are you-” 

“Well this paper’s no damn good, so what am I, then?!” 

“Fidds, breathe.” 

“That’s not helpin’!” he tried to wrench his hands away. Ford let him, but quickly snatched them back when he saw Fiddleford start digging little half moons into his own arms when he pulled them around himself. 

“Okay, then what does?” 

“I don’t know, I just, let it be! Let me be, it’ll get out my system eventually. I know I’m just freaking myself out,” 

“Hey. Look at me.” 

Fiddleford flicked his blue eyes up to meet Ford’s. 

“Deep breath, okay?” 

He tried to follow Ford, but it came ragged and shaky. Again. Again. Again. He faltered. 

“Ford, it’s not-” 

Ford squeezed his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the back of them. Fiddleford squeezed back. 

That seemed to do something. Ford smiled gently at him, trying to hide his own nervousness. 

Fiddleford took another deep, quivering breath. His leg had slowed, speeding up and slowing again in bursts, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You don’t need to deal with me like this, it’s okay, you really don’t-” 

“Like you’d say: Oh, hush. Are you alright?” 

Fiddleford nodded hesitantly, “Yeah. Yeah. It’ll be fine, this just happens sometimes.” 

“I can look over your paper if you want.” 

“That might be good. But I said, I don’t know how to organize it and make it sound good, so it’s really terrible right now.” 

“Bah, you say that.” Ford dismissed him, taking the paper and plopping back onto his bed. Fiddleford watched him nervously, chewing at his lip. He got up, sitting next to where Ford was laying on his stomach and watched over his shoulder, rapping his hands on his knees again. He almost brought them to his hair again, but sat on them, not wanting to worry Ford. He grit his teeth with the strain of resisting it. 

The minutes felt like they dragged on far, far too long for Fiddleford’s liking. 

Finally, Ford stirred, “This is really good. I learned a thing or two!” 

“You’re just sayin’ that.” 

“I’m not. You might want to switch these two paragraphs around? But that’s about it, really.” he pointed them out, rapping his pen on the paper, “I always tell you that you’re worrying about nothing. Now you seriously are.” 

“When it’s worth as much as it is, I’m not!” Fiddleford protested. 

“You tore your own hair out.” 

“That just happens sometimes, it’s nothin’!” 

Ford cocked his head, “Huh? How often?” 

“I don’t know. Just if I get really stressed out. Usually I just start pantin’ like a dog but if I pace around enough it gets the jitters out. Sometimes though it feels like my head’s gone all nuclear and scramboozled and I gotta do anything to make it slow down. Pullin’ at my hair helps. Sometimes I just pull a little too hard by accident.” 

Ford made a face. 

“What?” 

“Well, was I able to help?” 

“A little. Just don’t bark at me about breathin’. I’m already a little too aware of that and it freaks me out worse to have somethin’ more to worry about,” 

“Understood. I’m the opposite, I guess. But hey, whatever keeps you from tearing all your damn hair out.” he chuckled, “Besides, you always talk to me until I calm down when I get worked up. Here.” he handed the paper back, Fiddleford taking it graciously and immediately returning to his desk to fix it. 

Ford picked up his book again and went back to reading, casting a glance at Fiddleford every now and again, just in case. 

Fiddleford swore his hands still felt a little too warm as he copied down the words in a new order. It took effort, but he forced himself not to look it over for the thousandth time and nitpick. 

Ford lazily turned the page of his book, watching Fiddleford move around in the half light as he finished up and sorted out the pages of his paper, put them away, and started looking through his planner. He finally pushed it aside on his desk and set to getting ready for bed. 

Ford almost dozed off with the book in his hands, blinking again, and speaking before he realized, “Hey, Fidds?” 

“Hm?” 

“I’m really glad we met.” 

Fiddleford’s face went hot, “Yeah, me too.” 

“You’re one of the only people I’ve ever been able to be myself around. And we like the same stuff. You don’t look at me like I’ve got two heads when I talk.” 

Fiddleford nearly ran into the closet door on his way out of the room, pausing there, “Heh. Well, you’re interesting. And I could say the same to you.” 

“That’s nice. I’m glad.” 

“Yeah, heheh. Go to sleep, Stanferd. You’re gettin’ sappy on me.” 

“I will, I will. Don’t worry.” 

“I do.” 

“I know.” 

Fiddleford poked at the small patches where he’d torn his hair out, wincing a bit seeing them in the mirror. He sighed heavily and resigned himself to brushing his teeth after fixing his hair to hide the spots, just to make sure he could. 

He thought about what Ford had just said. 

He smiled a little. At least that made his heart race in a slightly less horrible way, whatever that meant. 

\---

“Yeah, and you can get some of the  _ best  _ pretzels and taffy down on the boardwalk!” 

Fiddleford cracked a grin as he listened to Ford ramble excitedly about Glass Shard Beach, “I haven’t had a good pretzel in awhile. The ones at the mall here are a sore disappointment.” 

“I’m not even sure what the, I don’t know, terrible flavor undertones? Are. Either way, I agree. Hey, um… actually, what are you doing over break this year?” 

“Probably working,” Fiddleford shrugged, “Hoping to make it down home for Christmas at least. Why? What are you doing?” 

“Working, mostly.” Ford was sheepish, “Dr. Thibideau said he didn’t care if I took some time off, but I really wanted to make some headway on my project with him while I’m not so bogged down with classes. But I was thinking about maybe stopping home at some point. If I do, would you, I don’t know… maybe want to come visit? I could go right after finals for a few days, so if you come, you could ride back here with me and then carry on to Tennessee for Christmas with your family.”

Fiddleford blanched, looking a bit surprised as he mulled this over, “Hmm, that’s quite an offer, but I’ve always wanted to see new places. You sure your folks wouldn’t mind?” 

Ford nodded, “I doubt they’d care… frankly, I think they’re already just happy I have a human friend, haha… ah…” he rubbed nervously at his neck, looking down and away before glancing back up to Fiddleford, “But then you can have some really fresh seafood, and there’s a nice pizza place down the block from our apartment, and so many neat things to see on the beach.” 

“I haven’t ever even been to the beach…” 

“You haven’t?!” Ford was incredulous, “Well, now you have to come. The ocean is beautiful! I want to show you. I grew up with it literally right down the street.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, Stanferd Pines.” Fiddleford chuckled, punching him in the shoulder, “You let me know what your folks say, but don’t feel bad if they’d rather not. I understand it’s a bit much to take on a whole ‘nother person out of nowhere, especially around the holidays.” 

Ford waved a hand dismissively, “Oh, don’t worry about that!” 

“I don’t really have a ton of spending money, either, so what about gas and all? Or food-“ 

“Don’t worry about it!” Ford assured, “For all the times you bring me a soda or have covered pizza, or checked my work, it’s fine.” 


	4. Of Taffy and Tidewater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lads spend a few days in Glass Shard Beach over winter break.

“I am going to warn you, my parents are…something.” Ford began as he stopped the car, “Don’t get me wrong. My mom’s sweet, but she can come on a little strong and my dad can be a little intense and hard to read, but don’t take it the wrong way.” 

Fiddleford was bouncing his knee rapidly by now, “Well, shoot, what didja tell them about me? I gotta know what the damage is.” 

“My mom had a ton of questions, of course, but I just told the truth. You’re nice, and smart, and good with mechanical things, and that we get on really well.” 

“I’ll have to take your word for it, I guess.” 

“Just breathe, Fiddleford. They’ll probably love you!” 

“Probably?!” 

“You know what I mean! Come on!” Ford ducked out of the car and had already managed to snatch his bag and throw it over his shoulder, Fiddleford trailing behind him and thumping his heel on the ground as he waited for Ford to finish fussing with his keyring and get the door unlocked. He finally found the one he needed and pushed the door open to lead Fiddleford up the narrow, rickety staircase to the flat above Pines’ Pawns. 

“We made it!” Ford called as he got to the top of the stairs. 

Caryn was around the corner in a flash, pulling Ford into her arms in a brief, but quite suffocating, hug, “Hi, baby! How was the drive? Were the roads bad anywhere?” 

“In a few spots it got a little hairy, but with Fiddleford’s observations and my quick reflexes, we avoided careening into any ditches, heheh. Um, mom, this is my friend, by the way. Fiddleford McGucket. Fiddleford, this is, well, my mom.” 

Fiddleford had already stiffly shoved his hand out, “N-nice to meet you, Mrs. Pines!” 

Caryn clasped both of her hands around his, “Oh, please, just call me Caryn. Filbrick! Shermie! Ford’s home with his friend! You two joining the welcome wagon or nah?!” 

A heavy, slow saunter started up that was sharply contrasted by rapid pattering steps that thundered closer. Shermie rounded the corner with a skid, launching himself at Ford. Ford caught him easily, pressing his little hands away as he grabbed for his glasses, “Hi, Shermie! Don’t take my glasses! I need them, seriously!” 

Shermie put on a devious grin, “But what if I want them?” 

“You’ll just have to get your own someday, then!” 

Fiddleford was left alone to be stared down by Filbrick while Ford fussed with his brother, “G-good evening, sir.” 

Filbrick took Fiddleford’s proffered hand, “Filbrick Pines.” 

“Fiddleford McGucket. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pines.” 

“You got a good handshake. I like it.” Filbrick rumbled, “Stanford, you could learn or thing or two about a proper man’s handshake from him. That’ll be important with the places you’re going.” 

Fiddleford thumped his heel on the floor a few times, “Thank you, Mr. Pines. That’s real nice of you to say. Um, if… if it’s any consolation, Stanford had a solid handshake when I met him, so maybe he’s improved!” 

Filbrick grunted in a manner that was completely and entirely unreadable. 

Ford resisted rolling his eyes, indifferent as Shermie tussled at his hair. 

“Shermie, quit pestering your brother so much. He just got home and had a long drive,” Caryn chided, pulling Shermie out of Ford’s arms in spite of his whimpered protests, “Anyway, Fiddleford, you’re welcome to anything you need.” 

Filbrick’s piercing look wasn’t helping him believe that. 

She continued, “Feel free to take over the living room if you want, or stay in Stanford’s room. You boys are grown, you can work it out. We have extra pillows and blankets if you need them, so just bark at Stanford, alright?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am!” 

“Haha! Yes, ma’am, no, ma’am, three bags full, ma’am. I like it, but honey, you’re making me feel old!” 

“Sorry, ma- I mean, sorry, Mrs-, erm, sorry, Caryn.” 

She chuckled again, “Well, I won’t keep you boys from getting settled in. It’s not too late, yet, so want me to go pick up a pizza or anything?” 

“Well, d-“ 

Ford cut in, “Ignore him. He loves pizza, so, yes, that would be fantastic.” 

\---

Fiddleford was desperately hoping the awkward tension in the air was just him being tired and in unfamiliar territory. Ford was hunched over a book opposite him, still managing to obliterate his bowl of cereal at an alarming rate. Caryn could be heard humming a tune, and Fiddleford could see her fussing with her makeup in the bathroom mirror down the hall, Shermie sitting on the counter and babbling away to her about something or other. Filbrick, meanwhile, sat between the two boys, glaring at the paper between sips of coffee that somehow managed to be stern. 

Fiddleford took a long sip of his own coffee. 

“You work?” Filbrick grunted. 

Fiddleford nearly jolted out of his skin. Of course he also had to ask when he had his mouth full. He hurried to swallow and cleared his throat, “Y-yessir.” 

“Good.” he straightened out the paper. Fiddleford waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. Hesitantly, he returned his attention to his cereal. 

Caryn finally entered, Shermie following behind. Ford almost bumped into her setting his dish in the sink. 

“Hey, Shermie, want some cereal?” 

Shermie nodded, “Yeah!” 

“Okay.” Ford set to pulling down the box again and got a bowl for him, “Hey, ma, I’m thinking of showing Fiddleford the boardwalk and stuff today. Can you believe he’s never even seen the ocean before?” 

“That’s nice, sweetie,” 

“Yeah, I don’t know if we’ll be back for dinner. Depends if we stop somewhere, but we’ll try to run back and let you know.” 

Caryn was preoccupied with something else entirely already, leaning on the counter and flipping through a little book, “Uh huh, sounds good. Ugh, why did I book so many people today?” she tapped her pen to her chin a few times, “Hope I don’t get too many calls.” 

Ford set a bowl down for Shermie where he had been sitting, hefting him up into the chair, “Alright. Don’t get into too much trouble today.” he ruffled his hair, “I’ll see you later. Fiddleford, are you ready to head out?” 

Fiddleford was rinsing out his dishes, dutifully as ever, and had already set Ford’s bowl onto the drying rack, “Yeah, one sec. Alright, let me grab my jacket.” 

“It’s chilly out. You can grab one of mine if you think you’ll need it.” 

“Naw, it’ll be fine.” Fiddleford assured, closing up his own and tossing a hat on. 

Ford snickered under his breath. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Come on, come on.” 

They managed roughly ten steps beyond the door of the pawn shop before Fiddleford’s teeth were chattering, “Actually, you were right. Can I run back up?” 

“Grab the one I left on my bed.” 

“Don’t need to tell me twice. I’ll be right back.” 

Ford leaned against the brick of the building with a laugh. A few moments later, Fiddleford’s footsteps came rocketing down the rickety stairs again, “I heard that!” 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. You looked so… so…” 

“Cold? Because that’s what I was.”

“Well, yeah, and…” Ford looked down at his feet for a second.  _ Cute? Was that the word? Well, a grown man probably wouldn’t take kindly to that.  _ He opted to keep his mouth shut, “Anyway, c’mon, there’s lots to see!” 

They carried on down the few blocks to the boardwalk. Ford couldn’t keep from continuously glancing over at Fiddleford as the first glimpses of the ocean came into view between the buildings. He noticed Fiddleford’s eyes widen and pace quicken a bit, glad to match him and hurry on down. Fiddleford tensed a bit as they got closer, Ford excitedly tugging at his sleeve to lead him down one of the docks by the boardwalk. 

“So, what do you think so far?” 

“I...I… it’s  _ huge. _ ” 

Ford grinned, ushering him along. Fiddleford stumbled a bit, too transfixed on the blue and gray horizon. At the end of the dock, he stared out, mouth agape and utter wonder plastered on his face. 

The dock was creaking and rocking a bit with his jackhammer-esque knee bouncing. Ford patted his back, letting his hand slide away rather slowly, “You alright?” 

“Stanferd… Stanferd, it’s  _ HUGE _ !” he stared another moment, then backed up, laughing on stunted breaths and kicking his heels with a whoop, “I never could wrap my head around it, and seein’ it, I still can’t! I’m scared and curious all at once, here! I wanna touch it.” 

Ford nearly doubled over laughing, “Fiddleford, I swear to God. Okay, okay, we can make that happen. Come on, let’s go down on the beach.” 

Fiddleford was more than happy to speedwalk up ahead of Ford a bit, impatient to get a closer look. As soon as they hit the sand, he took off, stumbling and barely managing to regain his balance. Ford hurried after him, unable to contain his amusement as he watched Fiddleford drop down on his haunches, stick his hand in the water, then pull it back, jumping back to his feet and craning his neck with a giddy smile before doing it again. 

“Stanferd, it’s really cold!!” 

“I know, it’s like that.” 

“I like it anyway!” 

“You know, you  _ can  _ rent boats an-” 

“No way.” 

“But you said you liked it?” 

“I can appreciate it just fine like this. Look at it. Stanferd, need I remind you, it’s  _ HUGE.  _ I’m happy with my lakes n’ cricks.” he fussed around with a few smooth rocks he’d pulled out of the water, standing up to start walking along the beach with Ford, “Haven’t you heard of hurricanes?” 

“They don’t just come out of nowhere, silly,” Ford elbowed him, “And most don’t make it up here. There was a bad one when I was really little, but that was it.” 

“And you ain’t scared?”

“Nope. To tell you the truth, when I was a kid, I really wanted to be a seafaring adventurer. You know, swashbuckling, treasure hunting, that kinda stuff.” he blushed, rubbing at his neck, ignoring the melancholy that tried to push in on what was supposed to be a chipper mood, “Heh. Kids, right?” 

“That actually would be really cool. You’d be like some dashing pirate!” 

“That was the goal. Beholden to no one but the wind and my whims, you know?” 

Fiddleford kicked at the sand, watching it arc up in front of his boot, “So, why didn’t you go into like, oceanography or marine biology or something? You still get your science fix and your sailor fantasy.” 

Ford stuffed his hands into his pockets with a sigh, “I don’t know. Dreams kind of changed, I guess? But it would be neat, if it were realistic.” 

“Oceanography and marine biology are plenty realistic for you.” 

“Yeah, but then I’m still beholden to something other than wind and whim, right? Where’s the swashbuckling in that?” 

“I guesso, I guesso.” Fiddleford relented, “Long as you’re happy, that’s what counts. Hey, what’s that?” 

“Huh?” 

“Out over there. Is that a shipwreck?” 

Ford blanched, feeling the color drain rapidly from his face as he saw what Fiddleford was pointing out. It was the silhouette of the delightfully unfinished Stan O’ War out in the distance, near a long forgotten dock, “Um, yeah, kind of. It’s nothing exciting, though.” 

Fiddleford started picking up the pace, “Well, I haven’t ever seen such a thing, I wanna check it out.” 

Ford grabbed him by the wrist as he caught up to him, “No, no, you don’t want to do that.” 

“And why not?” 

“I, um, I know the guy who owns it. He’s a really cranky person. I,” he faltered, heartrate quickening as he wracked his brain for some dumb excuse, “I went exploring there as a kid and he probably would have skinned me alive had he got ahold of me when he caught me snooping around! He’s been fixing it up for years, I guess, but he’s not the kind of guy I want to mess with. Ever.” 

“Huh. Well, I know all about short-fused property owners. But how do you know he’d even catch us?” 

“Just in case. Not something that I’d like to risk, right?” 

“Well, if he is there, maybe we could walk closer and just ask to look? It seems so cool!” 

“It’s not even a shipwreck! It’s just a dusty old boat owned by some shit for brains, that’s all!” 

“Sheesh, alright, alright. That guy must really have hollered at you good, huh?” 

“Yeah, he’s not on good terms with my family, too, so I just don’t want to tempt fate. Trespassing charges actually mean something now that I’m not a kid anymore. Anyway, how about we go back up to the boardwalk? I have a bunch of stuff to show you I’m sure you’ll love,” he cracked a smile, really hoping his eyes wouldn’t betray him. 

Fiddleford shrugged, returning the grin, “Alright, that’d be nice. But if we find a real shipwreck, you ain’t stoppin’ me.” 

“I’d be right beside you for that, duh!” Ford laughed. When they got back to the boardwalk, they sauntered along, conversation cut by Ford pointing out his favorite and least favorite things and dropping snide comments about things that had changed, offering quips here and there about shop owners he knew or infamous locations of shenanigans from years’ past, Fiddleford listening contentedly all the while and responding with similar stories where he could. The few times they drifted a little too close, hands would brush and some gut reaction would almost demand they curl their fingers together. 

Neither realized quite how much they wanted that right now. 

As evening approached, Ford was leading Fiddleford across the rocks on an outcropping along the beach that extended out into the water. 

Ford chattered away again, “You know, it feels pretty good to be able to buy all the taffy I want now. My dad wouldn’t let u-,” he forced a cough, faked a stumble and save, “my dad wouldn’t ever let me when I asked. Said it was too much. My mom sometimes pilfered one or two for me from the bins in the store though, that was always… fun and perhaps ethically questionable. Heh! I can be the taffy king now!” he patted his pockets triumphantly, which were, much to his delight, absolutely stuffed with as much taffy as he could fit. 

Fiddleford grinned, trailing behind him and shooting nervous looks at some of the wet rocks before taking a step, “I hear ya. We never got much for treats growin’ up, either. Money was tight, still is now, if not even more so. I’m tryin’ to be cautious, but it is tempting to get whatever I want now that I ain’t got anyone breathin’ down my neck about it.” 

Ford had stopped for a moment, watching him as he caught up, “Definitely. Well, I’m happy just getting candy when I please. Also, look out and don’t step on the ones with the seaweed on them. They’re way more slippery than you’d expect.” 

“No worries, stinks enough to keep me away!” 

Ford shot him a look, “You grew up on a hog farm and the smell of seaweed bugs you?” 

“It’s a different kind of stink, I’m not used to it. You’d hate pig manure, probably.” 

“Alright, touche.” Ford shrugged, turning to continue on. He barely heard Fiddleford’s small yelp behind him before he came crashing into him, knocking him off balance. Ford tried to twist around, failing to scrabble for a foothold as Fiddleford collapsed on top of him. 

Fiddleford slowly shifted, sitting up but still straddling Ford, who had his arms splayed awkwardly between two rocks and one leg caught between two others, both looking at each other wide-eyed for a moment. 

“Sorry, Stanferd. You okay?” Fiddleford inquired, blushing and ignoring the sting in his hands. 

“Yeah. Your hands look like they got scraped pretty bad, though.” 

Fiddleford brought his hands up to assess the damage, eyes widening in surprise,“Yeah, you could say that again. Ugh, that stings somethin’ fierce…” gingerly, he tried to use his knuckles to help push himself up and off of Ford with a pained grunt, “Apparently I nailed my knee, too. You need a hand up?” 

“I’ve got it.” Ford wrenched his leg free and got to his feet, dusting out the sand from his hair, “are you sure you’re okay?” 

Fiddleford nodded, though his expression betrayed him, “Y-yeah. I just… I slipped on the seaweed that was on the corner of that rock.” he let his face fall, chuffing in embarrassment. 

Ford shrugged, “Hey, it’s easy to miss. Still funny you slipped on it right after I warned you, though. How about we head back? It’s getting dark, anyway.” 

“And chilly. But don’t start with me! I saw you shiverin’, too!” 

“I run cold, you know that!” 

“No excuses, quit pretendin’ to be tough!” 

“I’m still more used to this than you!”

“Can it, yank!” 

They broke off into laughter as they started the walk back to the apartment, Fiddleford lightly brushing his hands off on his pants in hopes of getting some of the sand and blood off the scrapes. When they got back up to the flat, he pulled the kitchen faucet on with a finger, running his hands under them while Ford went to dig for something to bandage them with. 

“I found some gauze you could wrap your hands in for now. Oh, shit, you nicked yourself deeper than I thought in some spots.” 

“Yeah, really tore the skin up on the heel of my right hand, that’s for sure. It’ll be fine, I’ve had worse.” he shut off the faucet and stuck his hands out, wincing while he let Ford dry them off and help him fix some gauze over the wounds. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath as he watched Ford work, a tiny gasp escaping him when Ford looked up again with a triumphant grin. 

“All set!” 

“Yeah, thanks.'' At that, Fiddleford tugged out a chair and dropped into it to roll up his pantleg, “Huh. Didn’t scrape my knee, and it feels mostly better but I’m betting two bucks it’s black and blue in the morning.” 

“You’ll have to lay off the bouncing, huh?” Ford laughed. 

“I got a whole ‘nother perfectly good leg for bouncin’.” Fiddleford retorted with a grin. 

Ford pulled a few pieces of taffy out of his pocket and offered them, “Here. I got plenty.” 

“Thanks, I appreciate it. This stuff really is pretty good.” 

“Told you so!” 

Filbrick turned from his spot in front of the TV as he heard Ford dropping more pieces of taffy onto the table, “Stanford,” 

“What?” 

“Ran by that taffy shop on the dock and loaded up, huh?” 

“Yeah, why?” he stiffened, “Do you want some?” 

“No, why would I? They overcharge for that crap, anyway. Be more careful with your money, I ain’t helpin’ if you mess up out there and come cryin’ to me about it.” he snorted, turning back to his program, “Tough luck. Hope you’re spending smarter while you’re off in school.” 

Ford pulled a face, but didn’t answer. 

Filbrick grumbled another comment, “Next thing I know you’ll have jellybeans for brains and be bringing shame on this whole bloodline,” 

Fiddleford exchanged a confused look with Ford. “Don’t worry, it was just so Fiddleford could try. Anyway, we’re um, we’re going to go read ahead for one of the classes we have next semester.” Ford jerked his head, urging him to follow. Fiddleford noticed the urgency in his eyes and trailed behind him to his room, letting Ford shut the door behind them. 

“Finally you quit goofin’ off all day?” Filbrick barked, then muttered something else, but seemed to trail off. 

“Wow, you really weren’t joking.” Fiddleford murmured, “What was that?” 

Ford shrugged, whispering, “I don’t know. He gets in these moods sometimes where any little thing prompts him to go off on what he decides is some kind of wisdom lecture. It’s mostly him just talking in circles about nothing, but it’s better to just come in here and avoid the whole thing. If he thinks I’m not listening or if I laugh about it he gets... “ Ford made some vague gestures with his arms, “Yelly. Not fun! So I just let him mutter to himself until he gets distracted again.” 

“Oh.” Fiddleford blinked, “My folks get on anyone’s case about spending recklessly, too, but they don’t seem so…” 

“Kind of like a time bomb?” 

“Yeah. Like that.” 

“Exactly. I figured he’d be like this since we were out all day. I think he’s allergic to fun.” 

“How?” 

“He tried to make our camping trips into work.” Ford stated matter of factly, leveling a look at Fiddleford, “He made camping un-fun, Fiddleford. Camping.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

\---

Ford looked around blearily to find no sign of Fiddleford. He fumbled for his glasses and got to his feet as he adjusted them on his face, arching his back into a languid stretch and yawn till his spine cracked satisfyingly enough. A scraping noise from outside caught his attention. Did it snow last night? 

A cursory glance out the window confirmed it had. A lot, at that, and none other than Fiddleford was dutifully clearing the sidewalk outside the pawnshop. Ford looked over at the clock. 6:30 AM. He smiled, shaking his head, then tugged the window up and open. 

“Fidds! Did you even have breakfast yet?” 

“No, sir, but I woke up before you and saw the shovel by the door, so I figured I may as well make myself useful around here.” 

Ford rolled his eyes, “Oh, c’mon. Get in here. You weren’t made for this kind of weather, and besides, the noise from the shovel is bound to piss off the neighbors!” 

“Well, I reckon I could do their walks, too-“ 

“Tch… I’ll help you, then, but come eat first? We have those sausages you like. I can make them for you.” 

“Fine, fine, one second!” 

Ford met Fiddleford at the door, who was, as expected, a shivering, sniffling, red-faced mess. 

“Sweet Moses, Fidds. You got snot all over your face. You really didn’t have to do that.” 

“You’re here giving me my favorite little sausages, your ma bought us pizza, and y’all are putting up with me for a week. Least I could do.” 

“You also swooped in and washed all the dishes last night.” Ford stated matter-of-factly. 

Fiddleford was working off his boots, “So? I didn’t cook, so I better clean. Just because I was raised near a barn doesn’t mean I was born in one!” 

Ford was shaking with quiet laughter as Fiddleford pulled off his coat, “And you say  _ I  _ overwork myself. It’s winter break. Seriously, don’t worry – my parents wouldn’t have agreed to let you stay over if they didn’t want you here.” 

Fiddleford shot him a playful look, “Well, alright, then. Get me them damn sausages. Lord knows I can’t feel my fingers.” 

“Right away, my liege.” 

“Oh, shut up, Stanferd.” 

“You’ll have to make me!” 

“I’ll sew yer mouth shut!” 

The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully. A snowball fight was attempted, much to Fiddleford’s joy, though the snow wasn’t as cooperative as hoped. Evening found Ford curled up on a chair in the living room, Filbrick on the couch, half paying attention to some western film on the television. 

“Saw that friend of yours shoveling this morning.” 

Ford glanced up from the book he’d tucked into, “Yeah. I told you he was really nice.” 

“Hardworking, too. Good man. Good head on his shoulders. Got a good handshake. If Stanley had turned out even half as good as him, heh,” 

Ford stiffened, a conflicting wash of emotion hitting him sharply. He swallowed, finding the action difficult, “Uh…um, speaking of… have you heard from him at all?” 

Filbrick jerked in what might have been a shrug, curling his lip, “Think I saw his car somewhere last year. What? He been calling you? Let me guess, for bail money?” 

Ford shook his head, chest tightening, “No. He hasn’t contacted me at all, either, actually. So that’s why I was just, I was just wondering if he was okay.” 

“Was he ever? Don’t waste your time worrying. You have yourself on track, don’t let him drag you down.” Filbrick’s expression invited no further conversation as he got to his feet and sauntered out of the room, “Your ma’s planning on a grocery run in the morning. Let her know if you and your friend need anything.” 

Ford nodded dumbly, but said nothing. With a sigh, he slid out of the chair and headed for his room, head feeling muddied and heavy more than anything. 

Fiddleford cocked his head curiously as he came into the room shortly after, hair still damp from the shower, “Hey, Stanferd. Whatcha doing?” 

Ford was awkwardly curled on his bed, lazily doodling in a sketchbook. By now there were at least a dozen hastily scratched out sailboats all over the page, “Drawing boats. None of them are turning out, though.” 

That tone of voice sounded a bit off, “You feeling okay?” 

Ford didn’t miss a beat, responding flatly, “Tired.” 

“Oh. Heh. What’s new?” 

A hint of a smile pulled at the corner of Ford’s mouth and he snorted softly in amusement, “Oh, shut up, you.” 

Fiddleford collapsed onto the bed with an overexaggerated sigh, sprawling over Ford’s legs and picking up the cubics cube Ford had, once again and much to his chagrin, scrambled. 

“Dangit, Stanferd! Must you  _ always  _ be messing around with my cubics cube?! If I had half a mind-“ 

If Fiddleford could have seen Ford’s face, he would have caught the telltale devious glint that sparked across his deep brown eyes, “I don’t know. If you  _ did  _ have half a mind, what would you do to me?” 

“I’d sock ya for that, for one!” he landed a playful punch into Ford’s shoulderblade. 

“Easy! Easy! Your knuckles are remarkably sharp. Yeesh!” 

“I’ll do it harder if you don’t quit yer sassin’!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of wanted to do more with this, but ended up really running out of steam. I might revisit it and add more eventually.


	5. Southern Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford lands a summer internship in Tennessee. Shenanigans with Fiddleford ensue feat. unabashed pining, jamming to Frank Locklin, stargazing, searching for UFOs, those night drives that lead to deep conversations, and some hanging around with Emma-May and Thistlebert.

“Fiddleford!” Ford dropped his bag in the doorway as he burst in, beaming brightly, “I have some huge news!”

Fiddleford nearly flung his screwdriver across the room in surprise, “Woah! Okay, okay, what’s going on?”

Ford looked liked he was going to explode, “Remember how Dr. Marshon had me apply at Oak Ridge, too?”

Fiddleford stiffened, nodding once and looking for all the world like he was hanging on Ford’s next words as if his life depended on them. 

“I heard back! They said yes!”

Fiddleford scrambled to his feet, “Serious?! Don’t you be pullin’ my leg again, Pines!”

Ford shook his head, “I’m not kidding! I got the internship!”

Fiddleford’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head and a huge grin exploded over his face, “Haha! We’ll be almost coworkers! Maybe I can get you in to see the supercomputers if I ask reaaaal nice,”

Ford nodded ecstatically, “That’d be so cool! Maybe I can get you into the biosciences end of things to see what I’m up to!”

Fiddleford was stomping his foot and running his hands through his hair now, laughing gleefully, “Heck, and since you’ll be there, you can come out to the farm! It’s not more than an hour out from Oak Ridge. I can return the favor and introduce you to my folks, and I can show you the creek, and we can go fishing, or tubing, or whatever! You can finally try my grandma’s sweet tea, and, and, ahaha! This is great!”

Ford had stepped forward, both of them now clasping each other’s hands and almost buckling against each other laughing and grinning, “Yeah! And we can keep playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons!”

“I can take you up to Knoxville and down to Frozen Head!”

“Riveting adventures await!”

“Darn straight they do! Shoot, c’mere, man!” Fiddleford roughly pulled him into a tight hug, practically crushing the breath from Ford’s lungs, giving him a hearty thwack on the back.

“And I’ll have someone to laugh at my jokes,“ Ford chuffed, “Dr. Marshon and his students don’t have any taste.”

“They’re just so lame that you gotta laugh,”

“Come on, some of them are good!”

“ _ Maybe _ \- tch! Eheheh!”

It seemed they simultaneously realized how long they’d been holding onto each other, both freezing, letting go, and looking off to the side with soft, shy laughter. Fiddleford punched him lightly in the chest, Ford patting him gruffly on the shoulder.

“Well, I’m excited. Who knows what we’ll end up doing? And this is pretty prestigious.”

Fiddleford nodded excitedly, “Right? And trust me, all kinds of weird stuff goes on in the woods out there. Real perfect for you.”

Ford beamed, “Sounds like it!” he sighed with a smile, “It finally feels like we’re getting somewhere. I hope it goes well.” 

“I’m sure it will. And for the record, I’m not responsible if you get yourself into some trouble from stickin’ your nose where you ought not to.”

“Those woods won’t know what hit them.”

“You won’t know what hit you first!”

“Psh, save your doubts for the hogs, Fidds.”

\---

Ford watched out the window at the passing shadows between the trees, rapping his fingers on his lap. Fiddleford drove an easy pace down the winding dirt road, though the poor suspension of his truck still had them jostled at every bump. The radio crackled quietly, another song starting up and coming through a bit raggedly. Fiddleford was softly humming along, knee bouncing just a bit. Ford looked over at him, studying the way he looked framed in the moonlight with one hand confidently on the steering wheel and the other hanging out the window into the night air.

“Isn’t this that new Frank Locklin you were playing back at the house?”

Fiddleford nodded once, not taking his eyes off the road, “I like this one a lot.” He switched to singing quietly, just more than above his breath.

“ _ Turn away from me daaarlin’ _

_ I’m beggin’ you to~ _

_ Please help me, I’m faaallin’ in love with you~ _ ”

Ford felt his cheeks burn. Fiddleford was usually much bolder with his singing, but it was a new song, after all. The shadows played over his face, tinging his amber hair in silver and gold and the headlights bathing the road ahead in strange patterns of light and darkness as they bumped along.

“ _ For I mustn’t waaant you, but darlin’ I dooo~ _

_ Please help me, I’m faaaallin’ in love with you~” _

Fiddleford shot a quick, bashful glance at Ford, breaking off into a nervous laugh as the song faded out and another started up, “Heheh, I’m still getting it down.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be so quiet, but you sounded nice. Like usual.” Ford offered, swallowing and casting his gaze back out the window.

“Heh, thanks, Ford.”

“I only don’t like it when I’m focusing on work. But maybe you’re just distracting because you sound nice.”

Fiddleford cleared his throat, eyes widening for a second and ears going red, “Oh, knock off the flattery, bigshot! Anyway, I really hope you’ve been liking it out here. I know it’s been pretty hot out this past week.”

“It doesn’t bother me too bad. You were right about it being easier if you start in the morning and ease into it with the day.”

“Exactly, that’s the key. Well, when it’s possible. We’ve lucked out the nights have cooled off pretty good lately. By the way, if you get bored of driving around, we can head back, you know?”

A small, contented smile pulled at Ford’s lips, “Nah, I like being out at night. It’s pretty and quiet.”

“I agree. Hey, you like lookin’ at stars, right?”

“Definitely!”

“There’s a little road that goes up a hill past this bend. Whoever owns the property cleared the top, so it’s a really good spot for seeing the sky. Wanna go? I think I left that beer I picked up earlier in here anyway.”

Ford glanced by his feet and grinned, “Indeed you did. Past mistakes into present successes, huh?”

“As fate would have it. Besides, what’s the point of sittin’ in a truck in the middle of nowhere if not for a beer and good conversation?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never sat in a truck in the middle of nowhere.”

Fiddleford snickered, “I missed out on the ocean. You missed out on this, so allow me to enlighten you. Okay, it’s a sharp turn and there’s a bit of a dip, you want me to hit ‘er hard or gentle?”

“Wake me up, Fidds.”

“You’re 5 and 9. Hold tight!” Fiddleford dropped a gear and hit the gas hard, wrenching the steering wheel right with a giddy holler. The old truck bounced hard as it hit the dip and pivoted jarringly, protesting as Fiddleford urged it up the steep incline and jerkily slowed down again, laughing raucously, “Aww, Ford, look at your face!”

Ford had his hands dug tightly into his seat, teeth grit and eyes wide, “Yeah, I didn’t notice that dropoff right past us until you gunned it!” he exhaled sharply, “We could have skidded straight over the edge!”

Fiddleford cracked a daring grin, “That’s part of the fun.”

“And yet you’re usually the cautious one.”

“I’m cautious where I’m not confident. I can handle a familiar backroad just fine. You awake, now?”

“As I’ll ever be!” Ford huffed, “How much farther up this road is it?”

“About another five minutes’ll get us there. Then you can have a beer and settle down. I got you good! Say, what do you say to fishing or going up to Knoxville next weekend?”

The conversation carried on as they wound their way up the road, trees closing in to the sides as they pressed on. As they made it to the top of the hill, they came through a break in the trees and Fiddleford pulled off, taking them bouncing over the grass.

“Hold tight. It can get pretty bumpy up here.”

Ford nodded and obeyed, still nearly clocking his head on the door a couple times when jerked to the side. Finally, Fiddleford slowed to a stop and cut the engine, twisting to grab the beer from near Ford’s feet to set it between them. 

Ford grinned, “Fantastic! You’re never unprepared for a situation, are you?”

“You learn to be resourceful,” Fiddleford winked, opening one and handing it to Ford before grabbing one for himself, “Sorry it’s not cold, though. Hopefully not too gross. Cheers.”

“Cheers, buddy,” Ford chuffed, staring at Fiddleford’s face a little longer than usual.

Fiddleford caught himself doing the same and desperately hoped Ford hadn’t noticed.

He hadn’t.

“Hey, let’s go sit on the tailgate so we can see the sky, huh?” Fiddleford offered, having cracked his door open. Ford was already out, truck shifting as he dropped the tailgate and hopped up. Fiddleford shook his head with a laugh, meandering around the side to come sit next to him and take another sip of his beer.

“You were right,” Ford breathed, “It’s gorgeous up here. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen quite so many stars.”

Fiddleford smiled meekly, “Heh, yeah. Your view must have never been great in the city, was it?”

Ford shook his head, staring up incredulously, transfixed as he scanned the glinting stars scattered across the inky blackness, muttering in awe under his breath as he identified them, the constellations they were patterned into, and the few steady glowing planets. Fiddleford was transfixed, too, but by Ford, chest fuzzy watching the wonder in his eyes. Ford shifted a little, the edge of his hand now just barely grazing against Fiddleford’s.

Fiddleford felt his breath hitch.

Ford didn’t seem to notice, still focused intently on the sky, “Fiddleford, what do you think the future will be like?”

“Hmm… I hope we have cool robots and flying cars. It’d be really neat to have teleportation, and space travel, and if anyone could call and see someone’s face. I’m sure it’s coming, we got it figured out, anyway. Maybe people will be a little more peaceful.”

“Yeah… I’m not betting on it, but it would be nice if everyone settled down a little. Maybe if everyone just did a little stargazing, we’d be better off. It really makes you feel small,” Ford murmured, “And the way things are going, I bet you’ll be the one designing half the robots. You know, I still don’t quite follow. What do you even want them to do?”

“You’re just always scoffin’ at it, anyway,” Fiddleford muttered.

“Only because you seem like you’re working harder, not smarter.”

“No, no, you got it backwards. See, once we get the robots doin’ things, they can take over a lot of jobs and let us spend more time specializing on things we can’t automate.”

“Uh huh, like what?”

“Make cars, maybe? Industrial and simple things mostly, is my guess.”

“But what if something goes wrong? Machines malfunction.”

“There’d be people there to keep an eye on it, and besides, people malfunction, too.”

“Well, what’s the point? That job sounds even more dreary than a factory line.”

“Half the jobs around are. Besides, everyone likes somethin’, right?”

“Right. I don’t know, I just think you’re overcomplicating things sometimes, even if it’s an interesting prospect.”

Fiddleford snorted, “You really can’t be goin’ on about being some forward-thinkin’ science man when you’re always doubting me, as in, real innovation!”

“I’m not doubting you! I’m just challenging you. You hold me back when I get ahead of myself, don’t you?”

“Not like that stops you, you’re the worst of a stubborn old mule and an angry bull combined.”

“Oh, ouch. But, hey, maybe that’s a good thing!”

“Sometimes, but other times I think it’s gonna get you killed!”

“I’ll go down in a glorious blaze!”

Fiddleford elbowed him roughly, “Sure you will. Or you’ll just walk off a cliff because you saw a weird bird and weren’t paying attention.”

Ford put his hands up in admission, “Also possible. Whatever. So how about computers? What’s the deal? You and I can do math and take notes just fine.”

“Do you  _ always  _ wanna be doin’ math and takin’ notes?”

“Well…”

“Okay, your opinion doesn’t count. But the point is, they can do things more complex than a human and more consistently. No need to worry about sleep deprivation, or stress, or silly mistakes, and they could do it all quicker. Already the stuff they put me on over at Oak Ridge is really amazing! We could run simulations on them, which could save resources or help us investigate things that aren’t… exactly tangible. You could model anything from populations to laws of physics, and wouldn’t that be nice? And even more, it’d be so much easier to store and share information. Right now we have a lot of work to do, but anything folks can do can be done better.”

“True, true. Maybe. But how do you know it’ll take off? I know you said you wanted this to be more of a… public thing?”

“Yes! We could benefit everyone. And how do you know anything?”

Ford mulled this over a second, “We’re not going off on that tangent again.”

“Alright, fine. Enough interrogating me. What do  _ you  _ want to do? Have you decided yet?”

Ford looked dreamily up at the sky again, face softening but eyes the picture of determination, “Something wonderful. Something useful. If I can just do anything to help us understand the universe better, maybe get my name in a good journal, that’d be amazing.”

“Just admit you want somethin’ to gloat about, too.”

“Shh, that’s only icing on the cake!”

“I see right through you, Stanford Pines. But here, let me nitpick you. What are you doin’ in ten years?”

Ford shrugged, “A postdoc, probably?”

“Ideal situation.”

“Oh,” Ford blanched for a second, “Um… well, it’d be pretty funny if I ended up with a faculty position at West Coast Tech and had my own lab there. Maybe Oak Ridge would take me on for a fellowship? Either way, I’d love to do interdisciplinary research and really bring things together to get to the bottom of the secrets of the universe. Figuring out what’s behind anomalous phenomena would be amazing – and not just whatever whackadoo nonsense people spout off about in editorials or whatever, I’m talking things that repeatedly come up throughout history that are worth some more investigation. That or… hm. Well, if we get far enough in space and find more life, it’d be cool to be an exobiologist.”

“Right there! Say you’re studying life on another planet, you could even make robots to help you snag your critters!”

“…wait, why?”

“Because what if it’s got somethin’ on it what’s dangerous to people?”

Ford raised an eyebrow, “So, you just wear the right gear and be cautious?”

“Stanferd…” Fiddleford brought his hand to his forehead, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter, “What am I gonna do with you?”

“I ask myself the same thing about you,” Ford retorted playfully, tipping back his beer.

“Still hung up on West Coast Tech, huh?”

Ford fidgeted, “Yeah. A little.”

“I think its ridiculous they just wrote you off like that. C’mon, you were a kid presenting in a grimy old gym with everyone else. Anything could have happened. Someone could have bumped it, some little hellion could have messed with it, who knows?”

“Well, sure, but-“ Ford tried to ignore the knot twisting in his gut.

“How can they even say they value research if they can’t wrap their head around mistakes or setbacks? That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? You mess up sometimes, things don’t go like you planned, but you ask new questions or innovate and do better. Science is about three things, if you ask me: failure, curiosity, and resilience.”

Ford chewed on that for a bit, “Maybe sometimes, but at the same rate, anything worth doing is worth doing right the first time. Mistakes can be costly.”

“I don’t think those two mindsets have to be mutually exclusive. But, hey, silver linings, right? It might sound selfish, but who knows if I’d have run into you otherwise. I’d hate to only know you as a name on a paper or some face in an interview.”

Ford blinked, “I, well… heh, I’m glad you’re not too put off by me. I’m sure we’d have run in the same circles eventually, though.”

Fiddleford sighed, “Yeah. Hopefully. Have you thought about trying to get out there for graduate school?”

“I did, but right now it looks like Dr. Thibideau would be willing to take me on. We’ve been talking a lot lately, and it looks like that first project I was helping his other student with might be a good jumping off point for something even bigger. Besides, I get along with almost everyone else in the department well enough, it might be a good place for me. Heck, wouldn’t it be something if I could help bring a little prestige to Backupsmore? And, um,” he rubbed at his neck sheepishly, “It’ll be nice to get to hang out with you for awhile longer.”

“I can agree on that.” Fiddleford finished off his beer and tossed it over his shoulder where it clacked and rattled against the truck bed. With a huff, he flopped backwards, hooking his hands behind his head. Ford followed suit.

There was a silence that passed between them for who knows how long, both quietly regarding the stars overhead and listening to the crickets and occasional cry of a whippoorwill or saw whet off in the trees, a staticky feeling in both their minds.

Too much to think about.

“It really is nice out tonight.” Fiddleford murmured.

“Yeah. My fingers are a little cold, odd enough.”

“How? It’s about seventy out here.”

“I don’t know? I run cold!”

“Lemme feel.”

Ford shifted his hand to the side and raised it to proffer it to Fiddleford, who took it with a snicker.

“Shoot, you’re right.”

“Weirder yet, I’m always really hot when I wake up.”

“What are you, a space heater activated by sleep?”

“Maybe? I don’t know!”

They shared a laugh, rocking their arms together lazily, fingers slotted together as they let their interlocked hands drop between them.

Another saw whet called out its steady little  _ too too too _ .

Fiddleford called back, then glanced over at Ford. His breathing shifted a bit. Fiddleford reluctantly pulled his hand away and sat up, “Hey, sleepy?”

“Mh?”

“You good?”

Ford’s voice came as a warm, tired rasp, “Yeah…why?”

“Ready to head back?”

Ford grunted as he sat up, rolling his shoulders, “Yeah, I guess. What time is it?” he pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch, “Wow. We really have been out almost all night. It’s nearly 3:30.”

“How long were we up here?”

“No clue. I didn’t check my watch when we got here.”

“Well,” Fiddleford glanced at the ruts his truck had left in the softer parts of the soil, “Hopefully the folks here don’t mind my tire tracks on their property again. Heheh,” he flashed a devilish grin.

“Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, you have the strangest rebellious streak I’ve ever seen.”

Fiddleford threw him a cheeky wink as he slid into the driver’s seat, “It’s all about knowin’ when to stay in line and when you can dart out. Besides, you and me both know full well you live by precisely the same philosophy.”

“Shh, you’ll blow my cover!” Ford nudged Fiddleford and cracked open another beer. 

“Oh, come off it! Now, do you want me to gun it down the hill?” 

“This is why you freak me out sometimes!” 

“I’ll take that as a no.” 

“Thank you!” 

\---

Fiddleford let the wheelbarrow down and threw his hand up in a wave as Thistlebert’s rusty blue truck came up the drive. Ford copied him, albeit a bit hesitantly, following Fiddleford over to meet him. 

“Hey, afternoon!” 

Thistlebert doffed his ballcap to them as he stepped out, “Afternoon! How are y’all?” 

“Good, good,” Fiddleford grinned, patting for his can of dip. He pulled it out, sticking a bit under his lip and carried on as he returned the can to his pocket, “What’s the occasion for you comin’ out here?” 

“I was out in town on a grocery run, picked a few things up for your ma,” 

“Well hang around and say hello, wontcha?” Fiddleford laughed, already moving to dig through his truck, “Which bags are for her?” 

“I tossed em on the side you’re on.” 

“Gotcha.” He came out again, arms laden, “Thanks for that, that was real thoughtful.” 

Thistlebert kicked at the dirt, “Weren’t nothin’. Hey, uh…” 

“Stanford.” Ford offered a shy smile. 

“Right! Sorry. How are you doin’? Likin’ it out here so far?” 

Ford nodded curtly as they all walked back towards the house, “Yeah, it’s really some beautiful country out here. And work is pretty fun!” 

“That’s great. Some fancy stuff going on at Oak Ridge. Sounds neat enough to me.” Thistlebert pulled the door open, gesturing for Fiddleford and Ford to go ahead of him, “Hey! Auntie Maaaaaryyyy!! Your favorite nephew’s come by! I got them groceries you said you needed and a lil more!” 

“They’re both out right now,” Fiddleford huffed as he set the grocery bags down, setting to work putting things away, “Fixin somethin’ on the gate or whatever.” 

“I’ll have to find ‘em before I leave, then.” 

Ford shuffled awkwardly, almost bumping into Fiddleford, “Can I help at all?” 

“Yeah, by puttin’ yer butt in a chair,” Fiddleford grinned, “Ooh, you really restocked us on the lemonade mix. By the way, there’s still a pitcher left. May as well finish ‘er off, huh?” 

Ford batted his eyes dramatically, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t argue, Mr. McGucket,” 

“Oh, don’t get cute on me.” 

Thistlebert guffawed, slapping his hand on the table, “Heeeelll, I think you do that better than Emma-May Dixon!” 

Ford ran his hands down his face, questioning why he’d done that in the first place. Now he was in for it.

Fiddleford cackled, almost spilling the lemonade as he poured it out, “Hah! And that’s sayin’ somethin’! She really knows how to dial up the charm. Dependin’ on how well you know her, it’s a real hoot or some siren nonsense. I’m immune to it, even if she says otherwise.” 

“You are  _ not  _ immune in the least,” Thistlebert shot back, “Oh, why yes, Emma-May, of course, Emma-May! That’s you.” 

“She’s good people, we’ve been friends since practically before birth! I’d give her the clothes off my back and I know she’d return the favor.” 

“Yeah, she’s been chasin’ you bout as long, too. Lucky. By the way, I ran into her at the store today. She says hi and was wonderin’ if y’all wanted to have a fire sometime or go shooting at the pit before y’all take off for school again. Said she’d give you a call sometime soon.” 

Fiddleford promptly ignored Thistlebert’s teasing and grinned broadly, “Yeah! That’d be lovely. Ford, I forget, did you meet her yet?”

Ford shook his head, “Not yet. I think every time you two hung out I was at work.” 

“We’ll have to rectify that. Real sweet, real smart. I think you’d get on with her well enough.” 

“Heh, and don’t let them doe eyes get to ya,” Thistlebert snorted, taking a draught of his lemonade. 

“He’s even more immune to doe eyes from anyone, I reckon,” Fiddleford jested, smacking Ford on the back as he set his glass down and settled into a chair between them, “Too busy workin’ himself to death.” 

Thistlebert laughed again, “Oh, jest you wait. Anyway, what have y’all been up to?” 

Fiddleford set his glass down, wiping away a drop of lemonade that ran down his chin, “Not a lot. Ford’s been helpin’ me with chores off and on this weekend. We went cruising last night for a few hours, too, thought I’d show him some of the nice spots for stargazing and stuff.” 

“Both of you are into that? Look, sky’s nice, but I seen it enough times.” 

“More to notice every time.” 

“Blah blah blah,” Thistlebert chuckled, miming with his hand, “Nerds and softies, the lot of you. But didja see the weird lights, then?” 

Both cocked their heads. 

“Off to the… west, I think? I was out fishing and saw some greenish lights off in the distance, come hover up over the trees awhile, all frozen like. Three of em, in a triangle, then they all spun and shot off in opposite directions. Spooked me good! I got my ass on home.” 

Fiddleford stared at him flatly, “Thistlebert, were you drinkin’ again?”

“Well…yeah, but I was fishin’, so what else am I gonna do?” 

Fiddleford pulled his glasses aside to rub at the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “Every time you have some wild story, you’re plastered at the time of whatever the event is.” 

Ford, however, was already starting out his chair and leaning over the table, wide eyed with excitement, “Weird green lights? In the west?!” 

Thistlebert nodded, “I know what I said. I’m thinkin’ aliens. Roswell shit.” At that, he finished off his lemonade, setting the glass down with a clack of finality, “I don’t mess with it. Got a real big chill down my spine when they showed up. Honestly, half this summer, it feels like the trees is watchin’ all of a sudden. But, now, that’s just speculation. Maybe I’ve been drinkin’ too much, maybe it’s jest jitters. Who knows?” he got to his feet, “But, I jest don’t mess with it. Mind your business. If that works on people, sure it works on not-people too. Anyway, I better take off here and get out of your hair, I’m sure you got more work to do today.”

Fiddleford nodded, “You tell me about seein' somethin when in your right mind, and I'd be the first down there to check it out. Thanks again for bringing those groceries by. That’ll take a load off my folks for sure, and let 'em know we'll be out soon to help if they need a hand.” 

“Ain’t no trouble,” he dipped his head to them, “Well, let me know if you and Emma-May get that fire plan or somethin’ goin’, and hope the work week is good to ya, fancypants sons a’ bitches,.” 

“Mhm! Bye, Thistlebert!” 

“Yeah, see ya ‘round. I’ll keep y’posted.” Fiddleford called after him as he waved, letting the rickety screen door kind-of-almost shut behind him, as it tended to do. 

Ford let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, “Fiddleford!” 

Fiddleford jolted at the sudden bark, dropping the glass he had into the sink with a loud clatter, “Dangit, Stanferd! Near made me jump out of my skin there. What?” 

“We need to see if those lights show up again.” 

“…oh, lord have mercy, here he goes.” 

“I’m serious! Can you imagine if we got a good picture of them?! Maybe there’s a pattern in what they were doing? Who knows!” 

“Thistlebert’s full of it, Stanferd. I’d know. He’s always spoutin’ off stuff, then backtrackin’ on it.” 

“Sure, I know, but what  _ if _ .” 

“If, if, if.” 

“You’re all ifs, too!” 

“Everything’s an if!” 

“Exactly! So what are you turning me down for?” 

“Well, lessee… as these things tend to go, far as I recall, someone ‘sees’ something. Then when anyone else tries, it never turns up. Put that together with my understanding that Thistlebert is, first of all, a yarn weaver and a half, and second of all, nice but dumber than a pile of bricks, and thirdly, hammered out of his mind nine times out of ten, I’m sayin’ not to get yer hopes up here, bigshot.” 

“But remember your dad was saying all the birds around here had been acting really weird the past couple months? What if it has to do with that?” 

“Animals got minds of their own, and half of ‘em tune into stuff we ain’t even aware of. Probably that.” 

“Fine. I’ll go myself.” 

“I wouldn’t dare trust your little car on some of those roads out there.” He sighed, then grinned gently, “Anyway, if you’re right, and I meet my maker by way of a spaceman, well, that's a hell of a way to go." 

“Well, I just think that- oh, wait, you’ll go?” Ford blinked. 

“You know well I don’t have it in me to turn down an adventure with you. It’s fun driving around out here. Besides, Thistlebert’s right, I got a weakness to doe eyes, don’t I?” 

\---

The moon was slowly being covered in clouds by now. Ford dragged his hands down his face with a groan, "Seriously?" 

Fiddleford tutted, looking pretty disappointed himself, "See? I told you. Thistlebert's full of it. You let him get you going enough times growing up, you learn not to put too much stake in what he says."

"Hey, with the hints of weird stuff that seem to happen out here, I figured it was worth a shot." 

"How much longer do you wanna sit out here? I already lost track of how many hours it's been." 

Ford exhaled roughly, settling back into the creaky bench seat, "I don't know. And it's too cloudy to even see the sky well. Ugh!" 

"Well, I'd like to make an executive decision and say not much longer. Felt like rain even on the way up here, we might have a storm coming, what with how hot and humid it's been." 

Ford yawned, "Yeah, I suppose. Ten more minutes?" 

"Okay. I hope you know I'm losin' sleep ov- _ for  _ you, here." 

Ford smiled gently, fidgeting with his hands in his lap, "Hey, you know you've done the same to me," 

"I only ask you to check my work at ungodly hours if I think you're awake. Which you usually are." 

"But sometimes I was about to go to bed," 

Fiddleford raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

"Serious!" 

"Okay, hun. You tell yourself that." 

Ford elbowed him playfully, then resumed staring intently out the window, twisting around to check out the others here and there and glancing at the mirrors, just in case the lights showed up in a different direction. Nothing. 

"Show yourself, cowards!" He barked, bringing both fists down on the dashboard. A beat had him and Fiddleford cracking up. Fiddleford started the truck up again. 

"I think I saw lightning out there. Man, this would be a cool place to watch a storm."

"Yeah, maybe. Those clouds are looking thicker than I thought, too. We'd better hurry on back now. Some of these dips and stuff can flood pretty bad." 

Ford nodded, "Okay. I trust you, I'd rather not get washed off the road out here." 

"Eeexactly." 

As they took the sharp turn off the hill and back onto the county road, fat, heavy raindrops already started spattering the truck. 

Fiddleford flicked on the wipers, "Would you look at that timing! Am I good or what?" 

If Ford spoke, he was drowned out by a low rumble of thunder, the only warning before the rain started to come down in sheets. 

Fiddleford grit his teeth, slowing down, "You know what, hold off on that." 

Ford was staring out the window, quite transfixed, "Reminds me of watching storms out on the ocean. Those are something." 

"That sounds terrifying." 

"Well, yes. Good way to smack you in the face with your own mortality when you see how big the waves can get!" 

"Not something I'd care to do anytime soon. Oh, shoot…" 

Ford glanced over at him, "What?" 

Fiddleford hissed something under his breath, leaning forward and putting the wipers on their fastest setting, "I can hardly see in front of my nose." 

"Neither can I...it's really coming down." 

A crack of lightning lit up the world for a moment, followed closely by a roll of thunder.

Fiddleford muttered again, knee bouncing rapidly, "And it sounds like we're in the thick of it. Let's see…" another crack of lightning, "Yeah. I'm gonna pull off right here for a bit, alright?" 

Ford nodded, "Sounds like a good idea. This really came up on us!" 

"Yeah," Fiddleford sighed, knee still bouncing away as he cut the engine and sat back, "Well, hopefully it passes soon. I'm really not keen on being stuck out in a bad storm. They can get ugly, and quick." 

Ford tugged at the hem of his shirt, "Yeah… maybe I shouldn't have asked for that extra ten minutes." 

"Naw. Honestly, I'm bummed there wasn't anything, either. Would have been neat, even if I probably would have been scared out of my wits." 

Lightning lit up the sky again, both catching themselves looking at each other in the sudden glow. A crash of thunder that shook the vehicle came almost on top of it, rain thudding down hard on the roof of the truck. It drowned out whatever Fiddleford said next, but Ford saw the nervousness on his face and his hand go towards his hair. Ford stopped him, squeezing Fiddleford's hand and pulling it down between them. 

Fiddleford thought he heard Ford speaking, but it was hard to tell over the driving rain. He leaned in. 

"Huh?" 

Ford scooted closer, "I said, are you alright?" 

Fiddleford flexed his fingers in Ford's grip, "Yeah. If we are where I think we are, we should be fine, this spot drains easy enough. I just don't want to be wrong right now." 

Another flash. 

Neither had realized quite how close their faces were. 

Fiddleford was worried he might bounce his leg clean off his body, trying to settle back over into his seat as casually as possible. Ford cleared his throat awkwardly, doing the same. He really hoped Fiddleford wasn't paying attention to how sweaty his hand was getting right now.

Both of them figured the blood in their ears was louder than the thunder. 

They spent the rest of the time in silence, occasionally fidgeting with their hands. Finally, the spaces between the lightning and thunder lengthened and the rain slowly began to ease up. Fiddleford's shoulders dropped in relief. 

"Oh, thank goodness," he muttered, reluctantly untangling his hand from Ford's, "Sheesh, your hand was really sweaty. Were you scared too?" 

Ford felt a warmth prick at his cheeks, "No, of course not! I was just holding your hand for a long time, and your hands are always too warm." 

Fiddleford swallowed, "Heh, yeah, guesso. Anyway, let's get the hell out of dodge. I'm beat." 

Ford agreed, listening to the rain as it kept coming down in the dark. The conversation from the night before crossed his mind again, that same knot twisting in his gut. He thought back to New Jersey. A sigh. 

Fiddleford turned the radio down as they got closer to the house, “Tired?” 

Ford gave what might have been a shrug, “Yeah.” 

A pause. 

Ford spoke up again, “Fiddleford, you know that shipwreck we saw back in New Jersey?” 

Fiddleford briefly glanced to him before turning his eyes back to the road, “Yeah, why?” 

Ford wrung his hands, shifting his jaw, “Well, I’ve been meaning to tell you, but it’s actually mine.” 

“Huh?! What? How? Why didn’t we go exploring then?” 

“It’s a long story. But I’ve been thinking about it since last night when you brought up West Coast Tech.” 

Fiddleford made a face, “You’re losing me, here.” 

“I don’t like to think about it much. But hear me out.” he paused, hesitating and struggling to gather his thoughts quickly enough, “I have a brother.” 

“Yeah, Shermie.” 

“No, not just Shermie. I have a twin brother. His name’s Stanley.” 

Fiddleford pulled onto the long drive down to the farm, “What? Slow down, here. When I was visitin’, nobody said a thing about that. Is he in school, too?” 

“No, not to my knowledge. It’s a complicated story.” 

Fiddleford didn’t say anything, waiting for Ford to continue. 

Ford sighed again, shoulders tense, “We used to be really close, he was my best friend even as different as we were. We were going to… we were going to sail away and travel the world together after high school. We’d been fixing up that old boat for years.” 

Fiddleford hesitated, stopping the truck and shutting off the lights outside the house, “How come you never brought him up?” 

He continued, “Well… he’s also kind of what ruined my chances of getting into West Coast Tech. He messed with my perpetual motion machine and didn’t tell me about it, so the next morning when I was supposed to present, it was broken. I had no idea what happened, and they didn’t even give me a chance to explain or see what went wrong. They said I wasted their time, and,” he shrugged, “I did. Stan played dumb the whole time. His project was next to mine, and he showed up late to present as expected. Didn’t say a word. I figured out it was him, though. I was furious when I got home that night. Our dad heard us arguing and, well, he and Stanley hadn’t been on good terms in a long time. They fought almost nonstop and I guess that was the last straw. My dad kicked him out right then and there, and he was in such a rage and I was so distraught that he lied to me that I didn’t do anything. I just watched him leave.” 

“When was that?” 

“Senior year of high school. I haven’t seen or heard from him since, and to be honest, if I did I don’t even know what I’d say. Apparently my parents haven’t heard from him either.” 

“What was he like?” 

“A jackass. A good jackass, though. He was strong, and funny, and clever when he needed to be. As much as he can make people laugh and get them together, he’s… how do I put it lightly? Equally destructive and got into about as many fights. He’s a better liar than my mother and maybe more volatile than my dad. He got himself into more and more trouble as we grew up, and I was always a bit scared of getting dragged into it or taking the fall for him at the wrong time. I hated to throw our dream away, but I really did want more space, to take the time to do other things, and he didn’t take it well. But it wasn’t like I was going to abandon him! It didn’t mean...it didn’t mean we couldn’t still see each other. It didn’t mean we couldn’t get a boat someday or finish fixing up the one we found. I just thought maybe we should… do our own thing and become our own people, too, you know?” 

“I’m really sorry, Stanferd.” 

“Just, I don’t know. He hardly ever lied to  _ me _ , to my knowledge. Maybe once when we were kids? But to sabotage me like that and to play it off like nothing? I guess his disregard for everything around him finally expanded to include me, too.” 

“And your whole family just collectively forgot about him?” 

Ford shrugged, “I guess so. I think that’s too harsh, personally, but... you know. You saw my dad.” 

“He was pretty intense.” 

“You never saw him upset. I’m sure he was trying to do right by us, but his usual method was scaring us straight and then some. I don’t know if that was helping or hurting Stan. I just kept my head down and stayed out of it so I wouldn’t have to take the brunt of it, so I guess it worked on me.” 

Fiddleford listened, watching Ford’s face as the rain kept beating down on the truck. He gently put one hand over Ford’s, prying his hands apart, “Quit that. You’re gonna dig cuts into your skin. I’m no stranger to the switch, but your place really did have a different kind of tense to it.” 

“To be honest, I’d rather if we just got smacked every now and again and had that be the end of it.” 

“Yeah. If you ever saw Stanley again, do you think you’d want to put things right?” 

Ford shrugged, taking his hand away from Fiddleford’s to rest his chin on his palms, “If I ever hear from him, who knows? My dad was probably right. It wouldn’t be surprising if he was in jail already. Besides, I think it’d take quite an apology. I’m still furious at him, in truth. Ugh...I don’t even know what to think. It’s just a huge mess, so I try not to dwell on it. It’s done. It happened. I’m still mad, but I hope he’s okay. Let the wind take the rest.” 

Fiddleford found himself at a loss, tentatively shifting to slide an arm around Ford. To his surprise, he accepted, scooting closer and burying his face into the crook of Fiddleford’s neck. The rain was letting up now, falling more softly. The thunder was a low rumble that carried on eastward. 

Ford shook, breath strained. Fiddleford held him tighter. 

The thunder rolled again. 

\---

Fiddleford pulled the truck to a stop, honking a couple times. 

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” came the holler as a girl stepped out the door. She had dark coils of hair that fell just past her shoulders, the summer breeze ruffling the hem of her sundress as she padded quickly over the gravel. 

Fiddleford had the window rolled down, “Well if it isn’t Miss Emma-May Dixon! Stanferd, scoot over so she can get in, couldja?” 

Ford obeyed, ending up thoroughly squashed up between Emma-May and Fiddleford once she clambered in. 

Emma-May turned to him, “Well we’re gettin’ comfortable quick. I’m Emma-May!” 

“Stanford Pines. Nice to finally meet you!” 

Emma-May cracked a grin, “You too. I’ve heard plenty about you.” 

Ford blinked, freezing up, “Eh? Aheh, hopefully nothing too bad!” 

Fiddleford got the truck going again, “Now you know how I felt waitin’ to have your folks cast judgement down on me. What could I even say that’s terrible about you? Oh, heaven forbid, Emma-May, he stole my pen a couple times and lost both of ‘em. End of the world, I tell you.” 

Emma-May laughed, nose crinkling, “I assure you that the pen thievery was the worst of it. Anyway, are Thistlebert n’ them comin’?” 

“I think so, he said he’d meet us down there a little later. He offered to furnish us some more clays if we go shootin’ at the pit, too,” 

“Ain’t he always the most generous?” 

Fiddleford smirked, “Yeah, makes up for his lack of brains.” 

Ford sat stiffly between them, listening as the conversation drawled on between them and unsure of where to jump in, if at all. He relegated himself to absorbing local gossip and old stories until Fiddleford finally stopped the truck again. 

“So have you taken Stanferd out here yet?” Emma-May inquired as she hopped out, grabbing the beer Fiddleford had tucked almost under the seat. Ford slid out after her, still silent. 

Fiddleford pressed ahead to lead the way, “I haven’t, actually! Really a crime, what with how hot it’s been,” he held a branch out of Emma-May and Ford’s way, letting them pass before taking the lead again. Through a break in the trees, the lake came into view, and Fiddleford was already tearing off his shirt and charging for the water. 

Emma-May and Ford exchanged a look and a nervous laugh as they watched him go careening for the dock and disappear off the edge. 

“You know he was scared of the ocean?” Ford chuckled softly. 

“Serious?” Emma-May raised an eyebrow, “Y’know, he does have a scaredy-cat streak, much as he tries n’ hide it. Guess I’m not too surprised by that,” 

“Said he’d never get on a boat on the ocean, even.” 

“He’s been on a boat here at least a million times. Yep. Sounds like him. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re doin’ here standin’ around in the heat, but I’m gettin’ in.” 

Ford spluttered when she made to pull her sundress off, a red bathing suit beneath it. 

Right. 

Fiddleford reappeared, “Ford, get in here before I drag you in!” 

“I’m coming, settle down!” Ford hollered back, pulling his shirt off. Fiddleford made a face at him. Ford caught the dare, cracking a cheeky grin before tearing off for the dock and throwing himself off it, crashing into the water next to Fiddleford and knocking him backwards. Emma-May jumped, scattering out of the way but unable to escape the splash Ford had sent up. She laughed, pulling her now drenched hair out of her face and sending a playful splash at both of them. Fiddleford came up spluttering, socking Ford in the shoulder. Ford half tackled him, throwing an arm around his shoulder, both of them laughing raucously as it turned to a bout of half-hearted tussling. 

They locked eyes for a moment, both going red and looking away, trying to separate as naturally as possible. Emma-May whistled at them. 

“Jeez, y’all are more handsy than newlyweds, ain’t you?” 

Fiddleford realized he was still somewhat leaning on Ford and jerked away, only blushing more when he locked eyes with Emma-May as she came over, snaking her arm around his. 

Ford wasn’t quite sure what sort of sharpness was tugging on his chest watching that, but he glanced away for a moment, clearing his throat. Jealousy? Really? 

Fiddleford forced a laugh, “Pff, he just keeps messin’ with me!” 

Ford made a show of pulling an indignant expression, “You can’t pin it on me, you’re the one who punched me!” 

“You part near tackled me!” 

Ford threw up his hands in feigned exasperation, trying to exchange a look with Emma-May. She laughed, then paused. Ford felt her eyes linger on his hands and shoved them back underwater, looking off to the side and tensing his jaw. 

“Say, Stanferd, can I see yer hands again?” 

“Huh? H-how come?” 

Fiddleford smacked him on the back reassuringly, “She don’t bite,” 

Reluctantly, he brought them up again, still not looking at her face, “Here.” 

“You got extra fingers? Neat!” 

He blinked, “Neat?” 

“Yeah, that’s neat!” she grabbed one of them, running her fingers along each of his, Ford stiffening and gritting his teeth uncomfortably as she did so, “All the bones ‘n everything? You can move em all?” 

Ford nodded, nervously pulling away the hand she’d taken and flexed each of his fingers to demonstrate, “All working!” 

“I’ll be darned. It’s your business, but I didn’t look… do you…” 

“Have six toes, too? Yeah.” 

Emma-May nodded, smiling brightly, “Huh! Well ain’t that somethin’?” 

Ford scratched at the back of his head, blushing, “I guess so, heheh. Most people are a lot more weirded out by it, actually,” 

Emma-May shrugged, “A gal I went to school with had an extra pinky, but she couldn’t do nothin’ with it. She’d probably get a kick outta you,” 

Fiddleford cocked his head, “Oh, miss Cassie?” 

“Yeah! Ain’t heard from her in a long time, though,” 

“She acts above her raisin’, anyway.” 

“I heard as much.” 

Ford blinked between them again. Emma-May was awfully close to Fiddleford again. He cleared his throat, “Mhm, well, it’s more common for it to be like that, anyway. I guess I lucked out having everything fully formed,” 

“Learn somethin’ new every day.” Emma-May offered matter-of-factly.

“You really learn somethin’ new every day around him,” Fiddleford added. 

Emma-May jostled Fiddleford, “Great, now I get twice the fun facts per day with both of you around,” 

The afternoon wore on, the three of them easing into conversation about this and that. Thistlebert arrived later, leading them to the gravel pit a few miles down the road. 

“You ever shot before?” Emma-May asked, looking over to Ford. 

“Yeah, but not for a long time. My dad took me a couple times, said it’d toughen me up or something. I was a lot better at it than boxing, that’s for sure!” 

“Well, Fiddleford’s good at really messin’ you up with how he throws clays, so be warned.” 

Fiddleford shot her a look, “I consider it bein’ skilled!” 

“I think yer just bad at it, Fidds.” 

The sunlight slanted at a low angle. Ford and Fiddleford alternated between taking shots at clays Thistlebert tossed and laughing and babbling excitedly together. Emma-May tipped back another sip of beer, leaning back against a tree by Thistlebert. 

“You got any idea what they’re on about?” Thistlebert asked. 

Emma-May kept drinking, shrugging, “Nope. It’s fun to listen to, though, but I lost track awhile ago.” 

“Nerd stuff. Well, it’s good Fiddleford finally found his breed, I was worried he’d be tellin’ the pigs and that ‘possum under the porch about it forever,” 

“I can follow him through a chat about cars, but once he gets on about them computers he’s workin’ on out at Oak Ridge, I got no clue. Sounds neat, though,” 

“I’m jest wonderin’ when he’s finally gonna ask you out,” Thistlebert remarked, chucking another clay at Fiddleford’s beckoning. He took it out with ease, handing the gun to Ford, “Hey! Ford! I’m gonna give you two!” 

“Okay! Pull!” 

Thistlebert let them fly, “Heck, at this point, you may as well do it, Emma-May,” 

Emma-May rubbed at her arm, shifting her feet, “I don’t know. To tell you the truth, we kinda had a thing a few years ago,” 

“What? He ain’t never told me a thing about that. He didn’t break your heart, did he?”

“No, no! It’s nothin’ like that!” Emma-May put her hands up, “He just wanted to focus on college first, he said. He was too caught up figurin’ all that out to really go steady with anyone, and he’s already workin’ himself half to death,” 

Thistlebert gave a bit of a snarl, tossed another couple clays and watched Fiddleford take one out and hardly nick the second, “I say he jest ain’t takin’ you serious,” 

“Thistlebert, he’s just thinkin’ of the future,” she sighed, “He’s tryin’,” 

“I think he’s too paranoid. Always tomorrow with him, always ‘oh, what could go wrong?’ and double and triple checkin’ everythin’. He’s gonna hang himself up on that fussin’.” 

“Naw, what he’s got is a plan, unlike you. Where’ve you got yourself?” 

“I got a plan!” 

“Yeah, and what is it?” 

Thistlebert paused, started, hesitated, then shrugged, at a loss, spitting out his dip in annoyance. 

Emma-May nudged him playfully, “See? So you hush up,” 

Fiddleford waved, “Emma-May!! Are you shootin’ anymore tonight?” 

“I am, one minute!” she finished off her beer and headed back over, casting a joking look over at Thistlebert. He rolled his eyes with a sigh. 

The sun sunk lower and lower, gunshots becoming more sparse and the space between filled with more conversation. The last shreds of light found Fiddleford tucked up in the bed of his truck playing his banjo, Ford near him with his arms up on the edge of the truckbed, eyes cast up to study the sky. Emma-May was sprawled across the rest of the bed, twitching her foot to Fiddleford’s song with a contented smile on her face, and Thistlebert sat up on the edge across from Ford, finishing off another beer. 

“I’d better get back home soon, before my folks throw a fit,” Emma-May remarked, “sorry if I’m cuttin’ this short,” 

Thistlebert rolled his shoulders, “I was gonna head home soon here, too. You need a ride?” 

Fiddleford perked up, “I can still do it, too. Just lemme know when,” 

“I am awful comfy back here,” she laughed.

Ford nodded and murmured, “Same…” 

Fiddleford snickered, “Emma-May, if you don’t sit up, you’re gonna clock your head on there every bump I hit.” he stretched, straightening up and going to hop out of the bed, “Alright, well we can get goin’.” he smacked Thistlebert on the back, “Thanks for bringin’ all them clays again. I owe you one. And you tell Misty to get out here sometime before me n’ Ford have to get back to school!” 

“I’ve been tryin’! That new job’s got her real wiped out,” 

“You better be grateful you got a sister that nice to rely on,” 

“Hey, hey, hey! I got her back, too!” 

Ford stiffened, forcing himself to take a deep breath and shove the creeping thoughts of Stanley from his mind. Fiddleford starting up the truck and taking off faster than expected successfully shifted his attention as he slid back, bumping into the tailgate and landing awkwardly next to Emma-May. She giggled at him. 

“He shoulda warned you to hold tight, he likes to take off rough when he’s got folks in the back,” 

Ford straightened up, “Really should have, I didn’t expect that from him!” 

“He’s full of surprises,” 

“I know, I keep finding that out!” 

“You know, Stanferd, you’re a real quiet guy, ain’t you?” 

Ford blanched, “U-uh, yeah, usually,” 

“Fiddleford is, too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him talk as much as with you,” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” she looked at her hands, fidgeting with them in her lap and smoothing out her dress, “Heck, I’m almost jealous,” 

Ford stared, not quite sure how to respond to that but very aware something seemed to flutter around in his chest, “Y-yeah?” 

Emma-May shrugged with a meek smile and tiny chuff. When Fiddleford stopped at her house, she hopped over the tailgate with a wave, “Well, it was nice to meet you, Stanferd. If I don’t see you again, I hope school keeps goin’ well.” 

Ford waved back, “Thanks, it was nice to meet you, too. Goodnight!” 

“‘Night!” she walked around the side to talk to Fiddleford through the window, leaning on the edge and chatting away happily, twisting one foot on her toe and swaying a bit. She and Fiddleford locked hands in a stern shake, breaking off into loud laughs as she turned to walk back up to her house, casting one last wave back at them. 

Fiddleford popped his head out the window, “You stayin’ back there or comin’ in?” 

Ford swung himself over the tailgate and came around to the passenger door, pulling himself up onto the seat, “Here, I suppose.” 

“Didja have fun?” 

Ford smiled softly, finally realizing how tired he was, “Yeah. I had a lot of fun, it felt like being a kid again,” 

“You’re a real good shot, you know that?” 

“I really wasn’t expecting to be, given how long it’s been and how few times I’ve tried it!” 

“Guess you’re a natural, then,” Fiddleford fussed with the radio as they moved off down the road, “I’m jealous,” 

“You’re a natural at everything else, so what are you talking about?” 

Fiddleford laughed sheepishly, running a hand through his hair, “Quit that, I just try my best,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oak Ridge National Laboratory is a cool place with some fascinating history! Check it out: https://www.ornl.gov/  
> It'd be pretty snazzy if the boys had a chance to do anything there. I'm sure they'd knock it out of the park. 
> 
> I also hc that Fidds has a '58 Ford F-100. It's just a darn cute truck and I bet he babies the hell out of it.   
> Fords here, Fords there, there's a Ford in every name around here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little thing this time. Radiator repair and Fiddleford's chance to peacock a bit!   
> Condolences to Ford who doesn't even realize how thirsty and smitten he is himself, yet.

Ford shrugged, “I’m not entirely sure what’s wrong with it and haven’t had a chance to figure it out. The other day when I was driving, it just started smelling off and it feels off, too.”

Fiddleford rubbed at his chin, “Huh…in what way does it feel off?”

“It just seems, I’m not sure, weaker? As if I have to push it more than usual to get it going.”

Fiddleford nodded once in acknowledgement, considering this, “Hm. Sounds like it could be the radiator to me. Do you mind if I take a look?”

“By all means, feel free. I trust you not to make it worse, at least. Heheh.”

Fiddleford stared daggers into him.

Ford put his hands up apologetically, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I’m sure you’ll make it better! Ugh, I, nevermind. I’ll shut up.” He forced a cough, “Here. I’ll show you where I’m parked.”

Fiddleford followed Ford downstairs and over to the parking lot. Ford fidgeted with his keys as they approached.

“I’ve only got a little bit before I need to take off for class again, sorry. I can look at it with you more later, though.”

“Naw, I know,” Fiddleford hooked his thumbs in his pockets, “If it’s the radiator, it shouldn’t take much to confirm. Lessee…” he sauntered up to the car, making a show of circling it with an appraising look before stopping to look underneath, “Didja know she’s leaking? Bingo.”

Ford blinked, blushing in embarrassment, “No, heh, I didn’t even think to check that.”

“That’s pretty much all I needed to see. New radiator and you’re golden.”

“Roger. Glad that was so quick! I owe you a shake or something this weekend.”

Fiddleford clapped him on the back, letting his hand linger just a bit as he pulled away, “Don’t mention it. I got a project to work on, so be mindful I might have screws and stuff on the floor when you get back.”

“What’s new?”

“I’m just trying to warn you so you don’t end up stabbing your foot….again…”

“I appreciate that,” Ford chuffed, “Anyway, I’d better run, so I’ll have to get to this later. I might need to borrow some tools from you, though. See you later!”

“Yep!” Fiddleford gave a stiff wave, then turned to the car, lightly rapping a beat on his thighs. This simply wasn’t going to do. With the rest of the afternoon, in truth, quite free, he figured it wouldn’t be too much trouble to make a run to the store and surprise Ford.

Fiddleford wasn’t there when Ford returned to their dorm, and there was no sign of his tinkering, either. One of his toolboxes was missing, though. Ford didn’t question it too much, figuring he’d run off with some friends to screw around building something. He dropped his bag in the corner and set out for the parking lot. Better to start handling this radiator situation before he needed to drive again.

He grumbled to himself, realizing he really should have asked if he could borrow Fiddleford’s car earlier if he needed to actually go obtain a new radiator. Hopefully he’d be back soon.

His question of Fiddleford’s whereabouts was easily answered when he found him already in steely-eyed focus fussing with his car, currently muttering as he struggled with a particularly difficult screw. He shielded his eyes from the currently very overbearing sun as he wandered over.

“Fidds, I could’ve-“

Fiddleford jumped, then straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow and trying to get some of the grease off his hand with his shirt, “Huh? Well, I had the afternoon off and needed somethin’ to do.”

Ford raised a skeptical eyebrow, “What about your project?”

Fiddleford stuttered a few times, “I- um, I was just messin’ with you, in truth.”

Ford rolled his eyes with an affectionate smile, “Okay. But I seriously could have figured it out myself. It’s hot as hell out here today. Where are you at? I can take it from here.”

Fiddleford went back to work, waving to him dismissively.

“Fine. Do you need a hand at all?”

“Just hand me stuff when I holler for it, alright?” he popped back up to throw a gesture, “Toolbox is over there, but I think I got everything I need laid out on top. The new radiator’s in my back seat. Hey, uh, actually, how’s that bucket I was drainin’ coolant into doin’?”

Ford stooped to look, pulling a little closer before shoving it back into place, “You’re good still.”

“Good. Well, back to it, then. Can you hand me that screwdriver I have farthest to the left?”

Ford obliged, watching Fiddleford curiously. As much as he was intrigued at what Fiddleford was doing, he found his focus faltering and his eyes continuously drifting back to admire him as he worked. It always set up some sort of quiet rush to see that concentration on Fiddleford’s face when he got invested in a task, something about the laser-like look in his eyes was undoubtedly and strangely captivating.

It really didn’t help to have to see him out here with a grease-stained wifebeater and sweat dripping off his bangs in the late afternoon sun, either.

Ford swallowed hard.

“…Stanferd, I said, can you take this and gimme my wrench back?”

“Huh?! Oh, right, yes, of course.” Ford snapped back to attention and hurried to fetch Fiddleford’s wrench.

Fiddleford straightened up again, brushing his bangs out of his face, “Well, that should be the last of it. Wanna grab the new one and I’ll get this one out?”

“Sure, one second.” Ford set off to the task, hefting the new radiator out of Fiddleford’s car and bringing it back over.

Fiddleford had just set the old on the ground and flashed a winning smile, hands on his hips, “Fantastic. Wanna put that one in?”

Ford blanched, “I- I haven’t actually done this before. Or really much of anything with cars, yet, to tell the truth. But I can figure it out!”

“No time like now to start. Did you see how the other one was in there and what I did to get it out?”

“Yeah, mostly.” Ford gave a nervous grin, hoping he caught enough of what Fiddleford had done.

“Just try, then. Basically do everything I did but backwards.”

Ford steeled his resolve, painfully aware of how close behind him Fiddleford was hovering and not terribly comfortably by the hawk-like watch he was keeping.

“Yeah, you got it. Just set it in.”

Ford did, then rolled up his sleeves and set to reconnecting the hoses, hesitating for a moment. Fiddleford grazed his arm, handing him a few screws and the screwdriver. Ford took them with a blush and a muttered thanks and got to it.

He wasn’t quite sure, but he could swear for just the swiftest moment he was disappointed when Fiddleford backed away to grab something else for him.

It didn’t take much else to finish the task, just a few bits of bashfully taken guidance from Fiddleford here and there. They’d settled into their usual banter as they gathered everything up to head back inside. Fiddleford was still trying to get some stubborn grease off his hands and onto his thoroughly stained shirt. Ford was faring better and cracked an amused grin, the two snickering and elbowing each other as they chattered away and made their way back up to their room.

“Well, I owe you more than a shake now,” Ford chuckled as Fiddleford tugged his shirt off, “How much did the radiator run you?”

Fiddleford cast his shirt aside, rifling through his half of the closet for a new one and tossing a towel over his shoulder, “I’d have to look. Just throw in a kiss as a tip and we’ll call it good.”

Ford felt the faintest rush down his spine and barked a laugh, “Hah! I almost could for all the trouble you went to.”

Fiddleford snorted, “Well, don’t keep me waitin’, then! Kidding! I’m kidding. But really, it’s no big deal. Just pay me back later. In the meantime, how about burgers tonight?”

“Sounds good to me. I could probably use the break.”

“You realized that yourself this time? I’m shocked!”

“Like you’re one to talk!”

Fiddleford spat his dip into an empty soda bottle, “I hear ya, I hear ya. I’m gonna take a shower quick if you wanna head out after that.”

“Works for me. I think the worst I have is a bit of grease on this shirt.”


	7. For Research Purposes Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night of studying goes a little wrong, and a little right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up for things getting a tiiiny bit spicy, but not severely.   
> And some dealings with internalized homophobia. 
> 
> I'm assuming Ford's started grad school and Fidds is finishing up the tail end of his undergrad for this.

It was a cold night, but it was warm in the room, the quiet punctuated with the occasional metallic clanking of the radiator. There was a strange tension in the air tonight, perhaps one that had been building just beyond anyone’s perception.

Fiddleford gently nudged his hand against Ford’s, bouncing his leg rapidly on the floor. Ford sat close to him on the edge of his bed and folded his own hand over Fiddleford’s just as he hesitated and nearly shrunk away.

This wasn’t an entirely uncommon scene by now, and was much more of a system. Fiddleford was forced to choke down his embarrassment again, and as many times as it happened he hated to let Ford see his anxiety get the best of him. Regardless, his breath hitched even more than normal at the coolness of Ford’s hand over his, but as much as it spurred his heart faster it was still a precious tether to earth.

He was sure his face felt hotter than normal, but it was getting to be a long night.

Ford had leaned to look at him like an inquisitive puppy, an unspoken inquiry to his state.

Fiddleford took a breath, “Just keep holding on. My head’s scrambled all over the place tonight. I’ll be fine in a bit.”

Ford nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him. He really hoped the heat that rushed to the tips of his ears wasn’t obvious, “Okay. But you do this every finals week without fail, and then what happens after all your fussing? You do fine. You do better than fine!”

“Sure, says you!” Fiddleford couldn’t help but choke out a small laugh in turn as he shot back.

Ford was glad to see his expression soften, “I do say that!”

“That 80 from last semester says naw!”

“An 80 is fine, and it was  _ one  _ time!”

Fiddleford leveled an accusatory look his way, “Stanferd Filbrick Pines, you know full well you’d pitch nothing less than a cataclysmic hissy fit if you scored low as an 80 on anything.”

Ford blinked, fumbling for a witty response, “I, uh, well-“

“-you’re perfect. I know, I know,” Fiddleford admonished with a lopsided grin, “Get off your high horse there, you’re dirt like the rest of us,” he snickered again, letting himself slacken and lean against Ford, nuzzling against his shoulder. He inhaled, content, then froze, suddenly all too cognizant of how close they were and straightened up again, awkwardly clearing his throat.

Ford gave him a quizzical look, “Hey, I know you’re nervous, but, am I on fire or something? You’ve been acting like I’m a hot stove,”

The radiator kicked in again, the clanking like a hundred miners hard at work within the walls. Fiddleford’s knee bouncing met its rhythm. He stiffly drummed a complementary beat on his thighs, “Sorry, I just, I didn’t mean to get in your space. I know when you’ve been working you have quite the bubble.”

Ford cocked his head, brushing aw ay a coil of dark hair that fell across his face as he mulled this over. Something seemed to catch in his chest looking at Fiddleford’s shyer than typical expression and the way the lamp light caught on his hair, but he dismissed it. It was getting to be a long night, after all, “No, it’s okay. You aren’t bothering me right now. I did say we could take a break together until you calmed down, didn’t I?”

Something stuck out to Ford. He was positive he hadn’t seen Fiddleford out of sorts like this before, even with all the times he’d talked him through his nerves. Without thinking, he was slinking an arm around Fiddleford, drawing him into an easily reciprocated hug, “C’mere. It’s alright. You’re going to do fine, I know it.”

Both of them were terribly aware of the way they fit together a little too well right now.

Fiddleford was warm. Ford found himself tilting his head just enough to barely nuzzle against him, drawing a breath against his hair and letting the long exhale ruffle his unruly amber shocks. He smelled nice. Rather rough and earthly with a hint of tobacco – not what Ford ever imagined he’d enjoy, but it was Fiddleford, so it was comforting. It was nice.

Fiddleford, meanwhile, was simply grateful for the weight against him. Something about it let him slow his breathing to match Ford’s and get his mind to finally slow down.

Ford caught himself just as if it felt as if he could melt into the skittish, wiry tinkerer pressed against him and he made a self-conscious move to pull away, but Fiddleford tightened his arms around him just a bit. His heart stuttered.

“Hold on. This is actually helping a lot. I hope that’s not weird.”

Ford felt something, perhaps a bit electric, run through him. He didn’t quite have a response for that.

“Stanferd?”

“Mh?”

“This is going to sound stupid, but I kinda just want to do this forever. You’re really comfy.”

A soft laugh rumbled in Ford’s chest, “How would we get any work done, then?”

“Shoot, I don’t know. I don’t really care right now. Can’t you just enjoy a moment?”

“Have you been having a go at that whiskey under your bed again? If you think like that, maybe you  _ will  _ get an 80.”

“Buzzkill.” Fiddleford snorted in amusement, reluctantly releasing Ford. The sudden lack of warmth and weight against him seemed to leave a gaping void between them in its place tonight. They paused like that a moment, Ford’s hands slowly dropping down and away from Fiddleford’s arms and resting briefly on his hands, their faces just a little too close.

Was this happening more often lately?

It was getting to be a long night. It had been a rough semester for both of them.

Long night, rough semester, exhaustion, stress, or whatever it was, it didn’t matter. A lapse in judgement or perhaps a moment of foolhardy boldness had Fiddleford closing the distance between them, pressing a kiss to a now bug-eyed and crimson Ford, who stiffened and squeaked in surprise. Fiddleford pulled away almost as quick as he’d done it, blinking in shock at himself as they sat, frozen and regarding each other in utter bewilderment.

Fiddleford clapped his hands over his mouth, breathing getting shallow again, “Oh, shoot. Stanferd, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have-“ as habit had it, his hands trailed up to his hair and he bunched his fingers roughly into it. Ford took him by the wrists, urging his arms down before he could tug at his bangs.

“Fiddleford. Fiddleford, breathe. Don’t go tearing your hair out on me again.”

Fiddleford’s breath still came stunted as he struggled against it, “Stanferd, I…”

“To be honest, that was actually my first kiss.” Ford blushed, barking a laugh in hopes of lightening the mood, “Who would’ve thought?”

The revelation seemed to do just the opposite and dump more gasoline on the panic fire, “Awww, dangit! And with a  _ man _ ?! What kinda person am I steal that from you, I just- I-“

Ford met his eyes sternly, ” _ Fiddleford Hadron McGucket,  _ get ahold of yourself before you have a damn heart attack. It’s…uh, nevermind that. Was that your first kiss, too? I thought you’d had girlfriends before.” He rubbed his thumbs over the tops of Fiddleford’s hands, shifting to more comfortably face him.

Fiddleford blinked, trying to compose himself, “We-well, yeah! I kissed a few girls before. I just, I looked at you and I guess, I guess, it’s just that I’m all scramb-doodled and stressed and exhausted these days and I don’t know how to show I appreciate you hangin’ around when I’m difficult, y’know?” he let out a nervous, painfully forced chuff, “But I really shouldn’t have. Not like that. I’m sorry if I grossed you out or scared you. It…it won’t happen again.”

“I don’t think it was gross. Well, you do taste a little bit like snuff, but that aside…heh. I  _ would  _ have liked it if you asked me first, but,” he shrugged, “I can’t really say I’m all that disappointed it was you. Besides, it was just a fit of excitement, right? We’ve hardly slept this week. It doesn’t have to count for anything if we don’t want it to.”

Fiddleford looked at him curiously, half in disbelief, “Stanferd. I’m a man. You’re just  _ fine _ with that?”

He shrugged again, pulling his arms around himself and tugging at his own sleeve, “Y-yeah. I think I actually liked it, a little bit. And sure, maybe it’s a little weird, but you know me. I like weird. I hope that doesn’t…change things…”

“You  _ liked  _ it?!” Fiddleford was still incredulous, tensed, nervous.

“I think so? You did take me by surprise, though. Um, did…did you?”

Fiddleford found himself stumbling haplessly over his words, “I, well, I don’t, I guess? I think so? It was…different. I think it was different feeling.”

Ford was rubbing at his chin now, brow furrowed, “Hm. That’s quite vague. Perhaps we should put this through more rigorous testing?” he glanced back up at Fiddleford with a bright, nervous grin.

Fiddleford raised a skeptical eyebrow, “You’re suggestin’ a few more trials? Stanferd Pines, what on earth…”

“Just to see! For science. N-nothing more. But I’m curious now, for curiosity’s sake.” Ford dearly hoped he was sounding as aloof as he was trying to be, “But warn me this time, please.”

Fiddleford hesitated, drawing a shaky breath and steeling his resolve. Enough. It was now or never while he was in the mood to do something absurd and foolish, “Okay. For research. May I kiss you again?”

He barely got the words out before Ford nodded happily and pulled him in. It was a brief gesture again, soft and reserved. Ford pulled away with an apologetic smile. Fiddleford felt the air seem to thrum as he looked at him, a rush running up his spine and leg bouncing again at the gentle feeling of familiar six fingered hands moving to slot against his. In the span of a heartbeat, Fiddleford’s last shred of apprehension and reason crumbled and he crushed his lips to Ford’s with all the ardor of a long-ignored, long-replayed dream that had snowballed into unfortunate longing in two kindred hearts. Ford reciprocated, clumsy and uncoordinated, clearly timid but wholly curious and invested.

It didn’t matter how terrible it was. It was perfect.

It wasn’t enough.

Fiddleford let himself carry on this streak of unusual boldness, pulling his hands away to run them up Ford’s thighs as he scooted closer, hardly a push needed for Ford to smile into the kiss and allow himself to slump backwards. He brought his hands up to card through Fiddleford’s hair as he clambered over him. A rough hand found its way to slip under the hem of Ford’s shirt, earning a nervous shudder and gasp.

Breathless, they separated again, regarding each other in wide-eyed fascination. Fiddleford hesitated, hovering over Ford and the blood rushing in both their ears with a roar louder and more urgent than air raid sirens.

Ford was the first to regain his composure, straightening up and pulling his glasses off to try and get the smudges off with his shirt and bearing that typical chipper grin that indicated a thrill to work or a rush from a giddy epiphany as Fiddleford sat back on his haunches, “Okay! So, results!”

Fiddleford studied him, a little less bothered by the smudges on his own glasses as he readjusted them on his nose. Ford looked an utter blushing mess and ready to bubble over as he babbled on nervously.

“I, uh, I really think I quite liked that. Tobacco and all, even. And you, Fiddleford?”

Fiddleford chuffed, stilling the six fingered hand that was already quaveringly reaching for a pen, “Stanferd Pines, you are  _ not  _ writin’ down a thing about mackin’ on me, and you are  _ certainly not _ recording that I liked it, too. Too much, in fact. I apologize if I got carried away there.” The energy shifted suddenly as he heaved a heavy sigh, “Anyway, I was scared of this.”

Ford cocked his head, smile fading to concern, “Scared of what?”

“ _ This.  _ All this. Scared of what I want.”

“What do you want?”

Fiddleford met his eyes with a melancholy conviction, hands shaking and swallowing hard as his rough drawl caught in his throat, “You.”

Ford held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, shifting to sit alongside Fiddleford again and dangle his legs over the edge of the bed. His heart may as well have just stopped, anyway, a wave of confusion dragging him down like a raging sea as the dust of the moment seemed to settle.

Him? Wanted?

In what way?

Who was he kidding, wasn’t it obvious? But, surely it wasn’t possible, was it? For anyone to feel like that for him, that was.

Now forced to face perhaps the most baffling array of emotions that had been long left neglected, unrealized, and sometimes forcibly unrecognized, Ford slumped a bit, he and Fiddleford sharing a deep breath of air that now hung heavy and uneasy between them.

There was an ocean between the most disparate of their concerns, though.

Fiddleford spoke up, his voice soft and resigned, “It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to feel the same, and I’m sure it’s just some little thing that will pass in due time. I hope I didn’t just ruin everything between us.”

Ford remained still, continuing to process this with difficulty and feeling as certain as he was utterly and completely befuddled, now that all this was laid out before him and all too real, “Yeah. Well, you’re saying you like me romantically, right? I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

“I don’t know what else it could mean for me to kiss you like that.”

“A fit of excitement and gratitude because it’s been a stressful night?”

Fiddleford stared at him blankly, as if to say  _ Seriously?,  _ “No, Stanferd. I do have feelings for you, and I have for a long time. I tried to ignore it. I tried to pretend it was confusion or just something else, but I’m realizing that I don’t think that’s the case. I like you. A lot. I might even be in love with you. And I’m not supposed to be, and it’s a terrible burden.”

“As much as it pains me to say it, I can’t even begin to pretend to know what I’m doing at all with this, or that I even know how to make sense of things, either, but… I think it might be the same for me? I haven’t had many crushes, really. A few times, I think… but it’s just hard to really say when I’ve always been focused on other things and assuming it was pointless anyway. Heh, you get rejected or tricked for a laugh enough times, and then complimented on the same thing over and over and you end up convincing yourself you’re really only good for one thing and don’t consider much else.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Fiddleford sighed, resting his chin on his hands, heel bouncing gently on the worn old floor, “My family would shoot me dead if they knew this happened.”

Ford chuckled uneasily, “I don’t know what mine would do. My dad would probably put me through the wall. I just hardly ever thought about this kind of thing, really.”

“I try not to. Like you said, there are more important things to focus on.”

“Regardless, you still have more experience, here. You’ve at least dated people before.”

“Yeah, girls.”

“It’s still a lot more than I have to show for myself. So, with that, how do I make sense of it? I’d..” he shut his mouth before continuing. Maybe Stanley would be a good person to consult right now, but also, probably not. It didn’t seem like he experienced crushes in even remotely the same way, just from how he used to bluster on all the time. It was hard to say, anyway.

“Well,” Fiddleford fidgeted uncomfortably, “You know, you just…know? How about this. What makes you suspicious? Like, what do you think of me? What do you want?”

Something tightened in Ford’s chest at being put on the spot like this, the feeling warm and crushing and enough to hitch his breath in his lungs, “I, um, er… it’s always a pleasure to see you. I love listening to you talk, especially when you talk so fast you stutter or your accent gets twice as thick and you start drumming your hands on everything in sight,” his eyes lit up as he went on, a warm smile slowly pulling at his lips and the words starting to fall easier, “You always give me something interesting to think about or new to learn. It’s interesting to watch you work. You get so focused and it’s motivating and keeps me on track, I’m sorry if that’s really sappy. Heheh. I like listening to you play banjo and I like when you sing. I feel calm and nervous at the same time whenever I’m around you, and lately…really…sweaty, I guess? Heheheh. I get about as excited as when I learn something really neat whenever you come around – it’s that kind of feeling. I usually don’t like being super close to anyone, but I like hugging you. And, I, um, I have dreams about you sometimes,” he cast his eyes down, curling his fingers nervously into the sheets, “Ugh. That was really uncomfortable and hard to put into words. I can almost hear my dad gagging and going off on me about getting too soft. This… God, this feels so weird. Am I having an allergic reaction? I think I’m having an allergic reaction.”

Fiddleford blushed, blinking at him, “Wh-what happens in the dreams?”

Ford tensed, not expecting that to be the thing he zeroed in on, “Uh, anything, really. Usually just normal things, like having coffee or something, or you’re with me on some wild adventure, or I have to rescue you or you come rescue me or… you know, normal, weird dream stuff? And sometimes, we… well, sometimes we do what we just did. Or more.” He rushed out the last couple words, immediately trying to cover his tracks, “Hah! It’s a wonder to be human, isn’t it? All the funny little ways our minds stitch the day together into utter nonsense.”

“Heh. Guess that’s something else we’ve got in common, then. Silly dreams,” Fiddleford scratched at his shoulder, knee bouncing faster now, “Um. If that was your first kiss, though, I take it you haven’t slept with anyone before, huh? Ugh, apologies for being so forward. That was an impolite question.”

“No, I haven’t… It doesn’t bother me, though. I don’t… even think about it a whole lot, exactly, just…sometimes. What, err- what about you? Sorry.”

Fiddleford shook his head, “Naw. Been close, though, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh?”

Fiddleford snorted, “Bless your heart, Stanferd. Yeah. I backed out last second, though. It was Emma-May, remember, that gal I’m friends with from back home? I just didn’t feel sweet on her enough at the time for that. It was high school. Too early for me or something, probably. Heh. I just couldn’t do bad by a good girl like her and be dishonest with her.”

“That’s respectable of you. Um, I know you two are still pretty close…where are things with her now, exactly? Thistlebert was right that when I met her, she really does seem to kind of…hang off you a lot.”

“We’re still just friends, but I know she’s still interested. I don’t know where that will go. Time will tell, I guess. I just want to get through school first, anyway. And, well, now you know who  _ I’m  _ sweet on at the moment.”

The words left a staticky feeling running through Ford, “You don’t have to ignore that anymore.”

Fiddleford jolted, attention rapt.

Ford continued, “It’s okay. I think the feeling is mutual. It’s just weird having this actually be, you know,  _ real _ . Did what I say sound, like, y’know, being sweet on someone, like you say?”

“Only you can figure that out for yourself. But, yeah, I think so.”

“Hey, I spent all evening helping you out when I have comps to worry about, so you help me now, hmm?” Ford offered a jovial grin, “And I even told you about my goofy dreams. You left it all vague!”

“What are you on about? You left it vague, too!” Fiddleford retorted, “That bit at the end. You think I missed that?”

Ford played innocent, lip quivering in amusement, “What are you talking about? I said we mostly do normal stuff or go on trippy adventures. It’s usually boring or really weird but nice, you know?”

Fiddleford’s frustration grew, “The part you started actin’ all bashful for! The part about how we kiss like we just did and, and, um-“

Their lips met again, more greedily this time. Fiddleford cradled Ford’s face in his hands, savoring the way his fingers felt against his jawline and the scratch of his stubble against them.

Fiddleford drew a sharp breath, “Now d’you get it?”

Ford stifled a laugh and gave a sheepish nod, heart thrumming in his ears, “Well, and you said we have dreams in common, right? So, is there ever a part like this?” he slinked a hand up Fiddleford’s side, carding through his hair and kissing him softly and slowly, finally moving to trail kisses over his cheek to nip at his ear with another nervous giggle.

Fiddleford was stuck gawking at him like a deer in headlights when he pulled back.

“Well, is there? Sta- I mean, I heard… I heard girls are into that.”

Fiddleford half-feigned annoyance, “You callin’ me a girl, Stanferd?!”

Ford couldn’t resist flashing an utterly shit-eating grin, “No, of course not!”

Fiddleford burst into laughter, “You better not, or I’ll tan yer damn hide!”

“Is that part of your dreams, too?” Ford’s snicker and devious smirk was quick and soft enough to miss. Fiddleford McGucket, however, was far too observant to miss a thing.

He snorted, “Shoot, at this rate it will be, and you’ll be in a bad way right quick. But, aheh, is there maybe a part where…” he gently took Ford’s hands and guided them to his hips, “You do that, and,” he leaned forward to kiss him again, circling his arms over Ford’s broad shoulders. It was still hasty, uncoordinated, utterly clumsy, and utterly perfect, even if their teeth hit against each other more than was ideal.

Ford drew Fiddleford closer, tugging him down and slumping over again. His heart hammered violently in his chest, but the million questions and worries scrambling through his mind ran themselves aground on a soft sigh from Fiddleford and melted away.

A new kind of focus replaced the cacophony, something hazy and dreamlike, nervewracking and strangely natural.

It figured. This sort of thing was hardwired, wasn’t it?

Worry and uncertainty broke through Ford’s focus again as he questioned what he was even supposed to do with his hands. Was he supposed to just leave them on Fiddleford’s hips? Should he pick a dream he’d had and just copy it? Even the clearest of those was difficult to follow, though. He wracked his mind for any even remotely useful scraps of information, whatever he remembered Stanley peacocking and blustering on about, whatever nonsense they’d run across in stashes of less than respectable publications in the local woods, even whatever perhaps ill-informed things the least refined parts of him spurred him to do.

Steeling himself, he opted to be bold, somewhat copying Fiddleford’s earlier gesture by slinking his hands up under his shirt and running them along his sides while inelegantly requesting access with his tongue. At the slightest acceptance from Fiddleford, he grew more zealous. Fiddleford jerked away roughly, shaking his head and quivering with laughter.

“Woah there, Stanferd!”

Ford blinked at him, perplexed, curls of dark hair splayed out around his head on the ratty sheets and an unsure smile teasing at the corner of his mouth as he ran his thumbs over the jut of Fiddleford’s hips, “Uh…what?”

“You gotta…shoot, Stanferd, you don’t just shove your tongue in someone’s mouth like that. There’s an…there’s an art to it. Slow it down. It’s something…softer? Like, um, here. Follow my lead. May I?”

Ford exhaled, thoroughly embarrassed. He nodded sternly, “Mhm.”

Fiddleford gently tilted Ford’s head up, fingers ghosting over his jaw as he kissed him with new deliberation, urging him to open his mouth. Ford hesitated, paying careful attention to what Fiddleford was doing and trying to quell his mind and relax enough to complement him. He reasoned he must have been doing something right, because Fiddleford buckled with a sigh, slackening and dropping more of his weight onto Ford. Automatically, Ford gripped down on his hips, rutting up against the newfound friction that sent a shudder up his spine. Fiddleford paused again, swallowing nervously.

“H-how far are we goin’ with this?” he grinned weakly, “Are you okay?”

Ford seemed mystified and locked in his gaze, “I’m fine.”

“Heh, your heart’s beating pretty hard.”

“Yours, too.”

“I like it.”

Ford chuffed bashfully, “Yeah, you too. Um. Do you want to keep going?”

Fiddleford grinned, though his face betrayed the uncertainty he was ferociously trying to quash, “Yeah. This is just really weird.”

“Weird is good.”

Fiddleford nodded, more reassured than he expected, nuzzling against the hand Ford brushed against his cheek, “Yeah. Yeah, weird is good right now, isn’t it?”

“Exactly.” Ford shifted his hands again, now fidgeting shyly with the hem of Fiddleford’s shirt, “Um, I know I’ve seen you plenty of times, but… um, I think it might be nice. You know. Right now. To, um… I just. Kind of want to be closer. That’s stupid. I’m sorry.”

Fiddleford understood and let his head fall for a moment, too shy to meet Ford’s eyes, “Uh, I, well… I love your hands, so if you’d… it’d be. Uh, aheh. It’d be nice if you did the honors. With the buttons and all. N-not that I’ve thought about that before! I mean, um, I have, just… you know.”

Ford sputtered a cough, more in shock and embarrassment than anything. Eyebrows knit in almost theatrical concentration, he grumbled something gruff and noncommittal and obliged, setting to work at undoing the buttons of Fiddleford’s shirt. Tentative, he pressed an experimental kiss to the now exposed skin at the crook of his neck and more along his collarbone, rewarded with another barely stifled sigh. He glanced briefly back up at him, a most baffling wash of both nervousness and contentedness seeping through his bones.

“Hey, Fiddleford. I think I have felt this way about you for a long time, too.”

It was a hushed tone that sent a warm rush through Fiddleford as Ford pushed his shirt down over his shoulders. He straightened up for a second to let it drop away and then crushed Ford into another kiss, running his hands up to push the fabric of Ford’s shirt over his chest. Ford’s breath hitched as Fiddleford just barely pulled away, still grazing his lips.

“This is usually the part where I finally get to tell you you’re beautiful.”

Ford gawked up at him as if he’d just been clocked squarely in the skull with a ten ton hammer, expression fading to a mischievous grin, “Well, aren’t you a regular Casanova? But, um, uh, same.”

Fiddleford laid the drawl on thick, a playful glint flickering through his eyes, “Bless yer heart, darlin’. I’m jest an honest gentleman.”

“Well,” Ford suddenly felt like chalk had taken up residence in his throat, “If…if I can be honest, but quite less than a gentleman, this is sometimes the part where…” he faltered on his own words as he nervously took Fiddleford’s hand and guided it down, “Um.”

Fiddleford guffawed, red to the tips of his ears, “Ain’t you charmin’? Shoot, how on earth are you dealin’ with those pants?”

“To be quite frank, I’m not.”

Something about the look on Ford’s face spurred Fiddleford on. With an impish grin and deft movement, he’d gotten Ford’s belt and fly undone, “Better?”

“Y-yeah, aheh…”

“Can I touch you?”

“Yeah. Can I?”

“Stanferd, please and thank you.”

Ford fumbled a bit as he fussed with the buttons on Fiddleford’s pants. Fiddleford froze as soon as Ford’s hand found him, a new wave of panic crashing over him and draining the color from his face, “I-I- uh, just, let’s…let’s slow down here, okay?”

Ford nodded dumbly, transfixed by the rather endearing worry on Fiddleford’s face, the way the amber glow of the desk lamp played shadows and gold over him, and the way time itself seemed to warm and slow around them. Fiddleford’s hand was warm and gentle, and the curious draw down his length as he hesitantly recoiled was enough to roughly shove Ford careening over the edge, much to his own surprise.

“Ah, fuck-!” Ford spat, grimacing more in grim irritation than in any sort of proper bliss.

Fiddleford gawked, seeming to process this in half time. Ford shyly met his eyes for a moment before skittishly averting his gaze again.

“Fiddleford, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why-”

Fiddleford curled a finger under his chin and urged him to meet his eyes again, giving him a soft look and seeming to be temporarily pulled from his worry, “It’s alright. I’ll take that as a compliment, heheh.”

Ford responded with a noncommittal grunt and went back to run his fingers along Fiddleford’s shaft, watching curiously when he twitched at the touch. Fiddleford gently pushed his hand away.

Ford raised an eyebrow, “Hey, I didn’t get to-“

“Naw, don’t worry about it. I don’t think I’d really get anywhere tonight, anyway. Can we just stop here?”

Ford’s face dropped guiltily, “Sorry, is it because I-“

“Stanferd, don’t be a fool. I said it’s a compliment to me. It’s just, this is a lot to process. That was already a lot really, really fast.” Fiddleford sat back on Ford’s lap, running a hand through his bangs.

“A lot is an understatement, I think,” Ford agreed, steadying his breath, “I don’t think I could have seen any of this coming in a million years. Or being okay with all that so quickly… I think I’d rather stop here for now, too, truth be told. It was really nice, though.”

“Yeah, guess letting a crush get pent up a few years will do that, huh? Anyway, hold on,” Fiddleford shifted off of Ford’s lap, got to his feet, and fixed his pants, “I’ll getcha something to clean up with.”

Ford grunted his grateful acknowledgement, stretching his arms up as far as they’d go before folding his hands under his head with a sigh. The room felt hazy, as if static was oozing through the air.

Fiddleford paused in the bathroom, clutching a washcloth tightly and wringing it around his hands. His ears rang.

Now would be a great time to scream bloody murder out over the ocean.

There wasn’t any way to focus right now. Ford tried to look through his notes a little bit. They hadn’t spoken a word beyond “Here” and “Thanks” since Fiddleford came back into the room. Within the five minutes after that, Fiddleford had puttered nervously around the room and huffed before leaving for a shower.

Ford reckoned he needed one more, but he felt rather frozen in place on Fiddleford’s bed.

“Um, how are you doing?”

Ford jolted, wondering how long he’d been spacing out, “Er- I’m okay. I think.”

Fiddleford sat next to him with a sigh, hair still damp.

Ford started again, “What about you? Did I… get us back to square one…?”

Fiddleford rapped his fingers on his cheek, resting his chin in his hand and bouncing his knee, “No. I think this is an entirely different…something. I’m kind of expecting to wake up in a few minutes.”

“Me too. But I think we’re awake right now.”

The knee bouncing picked up, “Oh, great. What am I going to do?”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nobody is allowed to know about this.”

“Heh, agreed,” Ford breathed, rolling his shoulders, “Well, so much for getting anything done.” 

The radiator started clunking again, slow and heavy and metallic.

“Studying-wise.” Fiddleford added.

A beat passed between them.  _ Clank. Clank. Clank. _

“You really, honestly, seriously meant all that?” Ford inquired quietly, folding his hands together and shrinking in uneasily on himself.

Fiddleford nodded, “Why else would I say it? No running or going back now. I think I’m in love with you and, well, I’m really sorry if I pushed you too far. I feel really weird about it now.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t. Other than the weird part, though, how is it?”

“Psh. Well, um… it’s hard to ignore that part. But I felt so happy. I think I still am, but I think I have whiplash or something. I don’t even know. I couldn’t drag you down just because it feels nice, though.”

Ford shrugged, “I’d consider it quite the opposite of dragging me down… I already said I think the feeling is mutual. It felt right to say that. I’m happy when I’m with you already.”

“So are you saying to forget all this mess and jus-“

“No, I’m saying I like you and I want to be with you, too. So what if we have to be sneaky about it? Big deal. I never really liked making big romantic things very public anyway… it’s always just felt like a quiet thing to me, if that’s okay with you.”

Fiddleford mulled this over, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips as Ford’s hand slid over his again, “I think that’d be just fine with me.” He froze for a moment when Ford slumped against him with a contented sigh.

“Good.”

“My family’d kill me.”

“Mine, too, probably. They don’t have to know.”

“Everyone in the dang county’d kill me… it never, really seemed logically like a big deal but…” Fiddleford sighed heavily, studying the way Ford was gently rubbing at his hand before slotting their fingers together.

It always felt so natural.

Maybe that was enough.

“But what? Remember when we brought this sort of thing up a few years ago, you know, conceptually speaking after we heard that idiot down the hall going off about it, and we both agreed that people are stupid and it’s no big deal?”

“Heh. Yeah.”

“Fuck everything. I like this, and I hardly understand romance.”

“I don’t think I understand it, either.”

Ford wriggled a bit closer, happy for the warmth, “We’re scientists. Our job is to jump into the unknown, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah. But-“

“Calculated risks. I know. Well, I’m doing the math right now and… as far as I can work it out, this is weird but good, and we’ll be alright, especially with someone as clever as you looking out for us.”

Fiddleford giggled, “Alright, I get your point.”

“And, um. I think it might be fun to pick up where we left off earlier. It’s not really a big deal to me, but, it was nice.”

Fiddleford blanched, then slackened again, pulling his hand away to slip his arm around Ford, “Yeah. You just say the word.”

“I think I might want to kiss you again right now.”

“Alright, but only ‘cuz you got doe eyes I can’t say no to.” Fiddleford laughed again, pressing his forehead to Ford’s before meeting him in a chaste kiss.

Ford grinned lazily, “You know, kisses are even nicer than I expected.”

“They are pretty nice.”

“Yeah…maybe that can happen a lot.”

“Maybe it can.”

Ford yawned. The radiator rattled and shut off again. Fiddleford had stopped bouncing his knee, “Will you be alright if I go take a shower now?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t pull your hair out overthinking this, or that mechanical design final.”

“I won’t, I won’t.”

“Better not…. Ugh, I don’t want to get up. Stop being warm.”

Fiddleford rubbed his back affectionately, “You stop being so chilly, then. C’mon, don’t you want to get some more studying done?”

“Fine. I hate it and love it when you’re right.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Ford snorted, reluctantly extracting himself and getting to his feet with a stretch. A nervous grin played at his lips and he bent to kiss Fiddleford’s nose, doing a little giddy shimmy before snatching a towel and clean clothes, “Heh, I really like doing that!”

Fiddleford stared after him, the heat rushing to his face again. He smiled inwardly, “Yeah. Me too. Now get outta here before we get distracted again!” at that, he went back to his desk, pulled his glasses off to wipe off an errant smudge Ford had gotten on them again, readjusted them, and re-centered himself on his notes.

For a second, he could forget all the doubt and nervousness, all the forced guilt, and breathe easily. He found himself gently tapping out a beat with his pencil and humming a new song that seemed to seep into his mind like fog that rose in the morning, ignited softly by the sun.

For now, it felt like all of him was floating up with it, dreamy and apart from everything.

Maybe these exams would be fine. He remembered almost everything he was skimming, anyway.

Maybe everything would all be fine.


	8. Maybe I think you're cute and funny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two nervous lads go on a date to the hardware store

Fiddleford sat on the floor, chin in his palm and biting a bit at his fingers and assessing the latest pet project he’d been fussing over the past few days, “Hm.”

Ford leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen through his fingers, “Hm what? Do you need to run to the hardware store again?”

“Hmm…yeah…” Fiddleford mumbled absently, now rapping his fingers on his knee and looking over the veritable fairy ring of bits of wire, tools, nuts, bolts, and screws surrounding him. He huffed and got to his feet, “You wanna come with? You’ve been writing for hours now. Take a break with me.”

Ford made a show of pondering this proposition, “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Well, I’d like to take you out, so…call it a date and come with me?”

Ford blinked, a nervous but delighted grin exploding over his face, “I’ll wear my best jacket in that case,”

Fiddleford laughed, grabbing his keys and kissing Ford’s cheek as he headed for the door. Ford flushed, getting up with a stretch and quickly rifling for the jacket in question to follow Fiddleford outside.

“I’ve never actually been on a date,” Ford murmured as he settled into the passenger seat of Fiddleford’s truck, eyes bashfully downcast while he fidgeted with his thumbs.

Fiddleford flashed a winning smile, “Maybe this isn’t very traditional, but nothing says I can’t take you out to dinner after,”

“I think I like this better anyway. Less stuffy and more interesting.”

“I figured you’d think so.”

“But,” Ford added, picking a bit of fuzz off Fiddleford’s shirt as he started up the truck, “I’m taking you out next, then.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

At the store, Ford followed as Fiddleford made a quickly failed beeline for what he needed, inevitably sidetracked halfway there into a slower meander around the aisles and easy chatter and debate about new ideas, forgotten projects, and the occasional quip about the efficacy of a given item as a melee weapon. Ford kept finding his focus drifting back to Fiddleford, who was now knelt on the floor and fussing over a nice-looking screwdriver set, lamenting the price and tutting under his breath as he got to his feet. He paused abruptly, Ford almost bumping into him as a file set caught his eye and once again left him muttering about the price before he carried on to get the few nuts and bolts he’d needed in the first place.

Ford drifted nearby, handing him a little paper bag to toss his quarry into and letting his hand brush Fiddleford’s shyly.

Fiddleford rolled up the bag, then took a sweeping glance around and tugged Ford into a quick kiss before returning to browsing intently as if nothing had happened.

Ford was dumbstruck, “Hey, what was that?”

Fiddleford didn’t look at Ford, but a fleeting, impish grin crossed his face, “I’m just feelin’ real romantic right now,”

“Digging around a drawer of bolts and looking at wrenches does that to you, does it?”

“Hey now…maybe.” That grin again and a soft blush. He brushed his bangs out of his face.

Ford chuckled, nudging him, “You’re weird.”

“You too, ya goof. You look real cute right now.” He snorted, only to bounce his knee a few times rapidly when a row of socket wrenches caught his attention. He hurried over, pattering out a soft beat on his hip as he looked them over, “Ugh, I really shouldn’t, but I could use a new quarter inch drive, and they’re on special!”

Ford was still catching up mentally. Cute? He brought his hand to his face for a moment, hiding his smile, “It does look nice. May as well take advantage of the sale, I guess?”

“I like how you fuss about how you spend, then encourage me to just follow my whims with no regard.” Fiddleford looked at the ratchet again, stomping his foot once, “Dangit! Okay. Okay. I’ll make good use of it and I _do_ have the money right now.”

“Come on, you earned it!”

“How?”

“Maybe busting your ass your whole life? And being really nice… and smart…and…” Ford trailed off as someone passed by, offering a shy grin and shrug to Fiddleford.

“Okay, okay! Alright. You convinced me.”

“This won’t jeopardize that dinner you mentioned, will it?”

“’Course not, don’t be silly. I’m a gentleman and I’m takin’ you on a more proper date, too, or else.” His voice dropped to a nervous, daring whisper on the last few words and he giggled skittishly, leaning close before taking a step back again. He took a breath and tried to compose himself as they passed a few other shoppers on their way to the till.

Ford blushed, trying to quell the dreamy smile that kept pulling at his lips. It was a terribly futile mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something short and sweet I couldn't get off my mind.  
> And it may or may not be roughly based on my first date experience with my husband (who is very Fidds-ish, heheh)


	9. Feeling This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some excited rambling leads to these dorks realizing how smitten they are and lends itself to things getting a bit handsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't clear already head's up for things being a bit smutty this chapter   
> Also I am so sorry about the gratuitous Blink-182 song title as the chapter title

Ford paused, eyes locked with Fiddleford’s as the last words of an excited ramble faded into an electric silence. The pause hardly lasted a beat before they crushed into each other, smiling and laughing into the kiss as Fiddleford drew Ford in close and slid the banjo picks off his fingers. It was a dizzy, happy blur that had them tripping over stacks of books and each other’s feet and stumbling onto Ford’s bed. Fiddleford gasped beneath Ford when he broke away to kiss at his neck before meeting his lips again. A surging warmth gripped them both, leaving Ford shivering at a soft sigh from Fiddleford and the feeling of his hands running down his back. Ford hooked one arm up under Fiddleford and clasped his hand over his shoulder, letting more of his weight down. Fiddleford squeaked out another tiny noise, rutting into the friction and balling his hands into Ford’s shirt, pressing his tongue into his mouth as soon as he could quell his intermittent laughter.

Hazy. Perfect.

Ford just barely pulled away with a bashful half smile and furrowed brow. He faltered in his first attempt to speak, nuzzling Fiddleford’s forehead, and tried again, eyes flicking back and away sheepishly, “I, uh, can we let this get out of hand, maybe?”

Fiddleford returned the shy smile, breath hitching at Ford still absentmindedly grinding against him. Some vague pang of attrition riding on a wash of anxiety hit him, but something about meeting those earnest brown eyes left it all crumbling from the periphery of his awareness, “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Fiddleford suddenly found his arms empty, smile fading to puzzlement as he pulled his glasses off and set them aside. Ford scampered over near the door to flick the room light off, then puttered over to replace it with the warm glow of his desk lamp before hurrying back over, setting his own glasses aside and quickly gathering Fiddleford into his arms to pepper his face in kisses. Fiddleford burst out laughing again, burying his face into the crook of Ford’s shoulder and running his hands down his sides.

Ford shivered a bit at the touch and cocked his head, a crooked grin on his face and a timid glint in his eyes, “What? I wanted the lighting to be, uh, a little more… you know?”

Fiddleford shook his head in amusement, “Ford, I swear…” he caught him in small kisses between new little bouts of laughter, trying to settle down. Ford toppled him again and pecked his nose with a chuckle. He hesitated for just a moment, slipping a hand up Fiddleford’s shirt before kissing him deeply and grinding down against him again.

Another round of nervous laughter and skittish, affectionate glances in the half light and hands that quivered in hesitant reverence, driven by a desperation for the warmth of skin. It wasn’t long before they’d managed to remove each other’s clothes between flustered comments and awkward pauses. Ford sat back after tossing the last of Fiddleford’s clothes aside, frozen and gawking at him with his hands just barely ghosting over Fiddleford’s shoulders. Fiddleford stared back, perplexed.

Fiddleford scratched at his hair, “Aheh, you alright?”

Ford blinked. He didn’t quite register Fiddleford’s voice.

“Ford?”

Ford heard that time and brought his hand to his mouth, biting at it a bit and trying to wrestle the nerves away again, “Y-yes. I just, um, can I just get a better look at you?”

Fiddleford chewed at his lip, looking away bashfully for a moment, but nodded and scooted back, “Okay. But only if I can do the same.”

Ford grinned softly at the coy glint in Fiddleford’s eyes, but tensed under the feeling of his gaze raking hungrily over him. Still, once he refocused on Fiddleford again, any attempts to hide the dreamy admiration that etched its way over his face became hopeless and he slackened with an adoring sigh, “Wow. Can I draw you sometime?”

Fiddleford jolted, breaking into self-conscious laughter and tossing a pillow at Ford, “Hey, and you call me a Casanova? Quit tryna charm me, you ain’t slick!”

Ford easily caught the offending pillow and cast it aside, “No, I’m serious!”

“I know, and that makes it worse!” Fiddleford hid his face in his hands. Ford gently pulled them down.

“Heheh, well, for now… it’d be nice if I could keep kissing you.”

Fiddleford flushed again, slotting his fingers between Ford’s and barely getting another chance to drink in the sight of him before Ford closed the distance between them. Fiddleford shifted one of his hands, running it up along Ford’s leg and letting himself relax and fall to the side with Ford, ghosting his fingers questioningly near Ford’s groin. The added fervor Ford put into the kiss told him to go ahead and he curled his fingers around his length, breaking away for a shaky breath as he shyly met Ford’s eyes.

Ford gave him a warm look, brushing amber hair out of his face, “That feels really nice. Um, can I…?”

Fiddleford swallowed down his nervousness, “Yeah. Just keep kissing me,”

Ford pulled him close again, stroking his cock and breathing against the crook of his neck before peppering kisses up his shoulder and neck and along his jaw before meeting his lips. Fiddleford whined into it, pressing his tongue into Ford’s mouth and trying to keep his pace steady, encouraged by the occasional jerk of Ford trying to rut into his hand with a rough grunt. Ford ran his free hand up his back to card his fingers through Fiddleford’s soft hair, breath heavy at Fiddleford’s touch and face burning hot as he continued to slowly palm Fiddleford’s erection.

Fiddleford jerked, tightening his grip a bit and earning another ragged sigh from Ford. He twitched at the sound and was finding it increasingly hard to keep his own voice down.

“Stanferd, I-“ he broke off into a groan, muffling himself with his hand and faltering a bit in his pace on Ford, “I’m really close-“

Feeling him tensing in his arms, Ford kissed him ravenously, shifting a bit to get a better angle with his hand. He pulled away just enough to meet Fiddleford’s gaze through half-lidded eyes, and something about the desperation etched on Fiddleford’s face and the perfect drag over the head of his cock was too much for Ford. He barely was able to mutter a warning before shuddering with a soft moan, pressing a breathless kiss to Fiddleford’s lips as he came, mind hazing over in staticky pleasure and a rough, crack-voiced “I love you,” scrabbling its way from his throat. He slowed for a moment, composing himself and catching his breath, processing everything and basking in the warmth that threatened to melt him against Fiddleford and into the sheets right then and there as Fiddleford slowed his hand. Fiddleford flashed him a triumphant grin.

Ford sucked down one more deep breath, brushing his fingers through his hair to shift it out of his face before cracking his most winsome smile and was back on Fiddleford with a renewed resolve.

Fiddleford squeaked in surprise, broken from the momentary pause by Ford catching him in a no less than desperate and hungry kiss. He braced himself around Ford’s shoulders, bucking helplessly into every stroke of his hand, sighing and whining into it.

Ford was surprised at how vocal Fiddleford was turning out to be, but it was quite the opposite of an issue, save for the neighbors. A nervous heat rushed through him for a second. He promptly ignored it. Everyone else _was_ gone for break, right? 

“I love you-“ it came as a choked gasp before Ford crushed him into a kiss again. Fiddleford broke off for another breath, holding tight against Ford, heart hammering and sweat beading on his skin, “I love you, I love you, I love you, nnh-! I love you-“ he buckled against Ford with a moan he stifled with a bite to Ford’s shoulder, leg jerking against Ford’s and toes curling as Ford dragged his hand down his shaft just a few more times to feel him shudder.

Fiddleford drew down a deep, quivering breath and scooted closer to Ford, pulling him close against his chest and craning his head to press kisses into his dark, unruly hair, “Darlin’, darlin’, I love you.”

Ford smiled warmly, wrapping his arms tight around Fiddleford and snuggling up against him, “I love you, too.”

“We should probably clean up.” 

“Yeah. I don’t want to move though.” 

“I know, neither do I.” 

“You get really loud, you know. I hope the neighbors didn’t hear you.” 

“You hush! I tried, okay? I wasn’t expectin’ that either!” 

“Heheh, they’re gone anyway. Besides, I like it...a lot, actually.” 

Fiddleford went red, focusing his eyes on nothing in particular, “Oh. Well, I’m glad for that, then… uh, both things. Just, er, just know it means you’re doin’ somethin’ right.”


	10. Magnetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day of shenanigans at an academic conference, featuring Ford's first research talk, Fiddleford suffering unreal levels of thirst, and heated discussion of Star Trek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up for some smut in this chapter as well.

Ford squirmed a bit in his chair as the last presenter chirped his nervous thanks and made his way off the stage. 

He leaned in towards Fiddleford, “Guess I’m up!” 

Fiddleford grinned, patting his shoulder reassuringly, “You’ll do fine. Good luck!” 

“I really hope so!” At that, Ford got to his feet and strode to the front of the room, shaking out his arms in hopes of dissipating the nervousness gripping him. Past mistakes and failures were not the thing to think about now. There was no perpetual motion machine on the line or anything of the sort, just remembering what he needed to say and getting the figures on the projector without a hitch. 

The prospect of managing even that was nerve-wracking. He forced it all away with an effort, coming back to attention as the session moderator finished introducing him. He flashed a bashful smile to the crowd, trying to ignore their eyes on him, and tapped the microphone. 

“H-hey, is this thing on?” 

Silence, save for perhaps a cough or sniffle from the small crowd scattered around the stuffy little room. Fiddleford was grinning, though. 

Ford was sure he was already drenched in sweat. Fantastic. He chuffed a laugh and cleared his throat, straightening up and refocusing himself. This was about his research. Just explaining it. That’s all. Get the point across. Sound competent. 

“A-anyway, good afternoon. Like she said, I’m Stanford Pines, a doctorate student at Backupsmore University and today I’ll be discussing…” 

Fiddleford’s attention was rapt. Seeing him nervous and blushing was unabashedly adorable, if he had anything to say about it, but it was clear Ford was quick in regaining his footing and as he spoke, the excitement in his voice rose and overtook the last bit of harried and unsure affect he had. 

Fiddleford was rapping his heel on the floor now, raking his gaze over Ford as he carried on. Something about seeing him in a nice suit, eyes glinting with unabashed passion, a small smile tugging at his face more and more as he talked was nothing short of bewitching. 

And really, painfully, agonizingly attractive.

They flagged Ford for one minute left. 

Fiddleford tensed. _Please, please, please don’t go on a tangent… keep it neat like we practiced!_

Ford noticed, stumbling for a moment over his words before getting back on track and finishing out his talk, trying to ignore how sweaty his hands were. 

Fiddleford shifted in his seat, pulling the folder in his lap closer to him and cursing himself. Something crossed his mind about how much nicer it would be to be pulling that suit off him. 

Ford locked eyes with him with a slightly quizzical look for just a moment. 

Fiddleford went red and looked away bashfully, hoping beyond hope Ford had no means of mind reading right now. 

“...I’d like to also acknowledge my friend Fiddleford McGucket for checking my work and creating a few of the figures I used...and for reminding me to mention the caveats of this study. That’s. That’s important, heheh. He has a poster he’ll be at in the session tomorrow afternoon, so go check it out if you’re interested in improvements to magnetic-core memory and its production! With that, I’ll be happy to take any questions!” 

Fiddleford couldn’t keep down his smile, dizzy and a little more than elated yet self conscious at Ford’s acknowledgement and vague gesturing in his direction. A few people turned to try and identify him and he shrunk down in his chair, blushing even more than he already was, if that was possible. 

He fancied himself a terrible wreck. 

Ford finished off answering a couple questions smoothly enough, nervously dipped his head to the crowd with another thank you, and scuttled off stage and back to his spot next to Fiddleford. Fiddleford tensed as he dropped into his chair and nudged him roughly. 

“How’d I do?” 

Fiddleford ran a hand through his hair, trying to ignore, without luck, the way his heart started racing with Ford next to him again with that stupid little smile on his face and smelling like sweat and cologne. 

“Absolutely wonderful, you knocked it out of the park.” 

“What about that last question? They almost stumped me!” 

“I followed you, it was good.” 

“Okay, thank goodness.” Ford let out a sigh of relief, “That was fun! Terrifying, but fun! Also, I forgot to tell you, but Dr. Thibideau said he’d take us out to dinner tonight.” 

Fiddleford just nodded in agreement as the next presenter took the stage. This was going to be a long rest of the day. 

Finding himself stuck at dinner in a nice enough restaurant that evening was not helping. He tried staying distracted with the easy conversation, but every so often he found himself mentally checking out to nurse his drink and listen to Ford chatter amicably with Dr. Thibideau and an old colleague he’d introduced them to. Fiddleford wasn’t sure he heard her last name correctly and cursed himself for it, hoping it’d come up again.

She turned to him, “Fiddleford McGucket, was it? What did you say you were working on?” 

Fiddleford froze, swallowing his drink wrong and spluttering for a moment before starting in, “Oh, um, uh… I’m in a different lab, actually, but I’ve been workin’ on magnetic core memory. Are you familiar? Anyway, I think producin’ it could be made...less tedious, with the right equipment, you know? And maybe we could use better materials for it, so I’ve been…” as he went on, he felt Ford watching him, eyes glinting with curiosity. 

He’d heard him talk about it at least a thousand times before, Fiddleford was sure about that, and yet he seemed charmingly intrigued as ever. He cleared his throat again and kept going, backing up to address questions from Dr. Thibideau’s colleague. 

Ford took a long sip of his drink and set his chin in his hand for a second, listening to Fiddleford, before remembering the company he was in and straightening up, hoping he wasn’t coming off too unprofessionally. 

By the time the bill came, Dr. Thibideau was urging Fiddleford and Ford to stop digging around for their wallets and assured them he’d cover it, they’d earned it after all their hard work, after all. 

Ford could have passed out on the spot, hoping he didn’t look as much like a praise-happy retriever as he felt. He and Fiddleford alternated awkwardly stuttered, “Are you sure?”s and profuse thanks. 

Fiddleford was gritting his teeth every time Ford brushed up against him on the walk back to their hotel. Every damn word he was saying was just testing his quickly waning self-restraint as they ambled along under the streetlights.

By the time they reached their hotel and neared their room, they were skittishly half-scampering and stumbling over each other between self-conscious glances for any onlookers and chattering and shushing each other like overexcited children. The door barely clicked shut behind them and Ford found himself dragged forward roughly by his tie, squeaking in surprise as Fiddleford crushed him into nothing short of a desperate kiss.

Fiddleford broke away with a gasp, locking eyes sternly with Ford, “Could you quit bein’ so darn interestin’?!”

Ford smirked, “How about you do the same?”

Fiddleford gave him a bemused grin and closed the distance again, shoving Ford up against the wall and a warm shock running through him when Ford returned the kiss ravenously. Fiddleford wasted no time in undoing Ford’s tie and moving on to the buttons of his suit jacket, unceremoniously trying to wrench it down off his shoulders. Ford shimmied to toss it aside, about to say something but faltering with a blink when Fiddleford abruptly dropped to his knees and fumbled to get his pants undone.

“H-hey, um-“

Fiddleford flashed him a devious grin, curling his fingers around Ford’s cock and taking him into his mouth. Ford drew down a shaky breath, clamping a hand over his mouth as Fiddleford took him deeper, swiping his tongue along the underside of his shaft.

Fiddleford had figured out rather quickly just how he liked it, for better or worse, and seemed hellbent on putting that knowledge to use right now. Ford only had a second to make a mental note to return the favor (and torment) at his earliest convenience before any semblance of coherent thought fizzled into rushing static. He growled softly into his hand, stroking Fiddleford’s hair with the other and barely resisting the urge to grip into it roughly. Fiddleford glanced up at him again, huffing in amusement as he studied Ford’s reactions. He shuddered a bit as Fiddleford pulled back, lapping over his head languidly and took him again. That got him. Ford shivered again, pulling his hand away from Fiddleford’s hair and smacking it into the wall, curling his fingers and scraping his knuckles against the spackling with a ragged sigh.

Bingo. Fiddleford knew what that meant and pulled away, holding Ford’s gaze daringly. Ford swallowed, clear frustration coloring his face as he let his hand fall away from his mouth.

“Fidds, you bastard-!”

Fiddleford wasn’t sparing a second and was on him again, catching Ford in a kiss that had his head hitting the wall with a light thunk. A soft laugh and a whirlwind of shushing and whispers and lost clothing between hurried, desperate kisses followed them stumbling against each other until Fiddleford collapsed on top of Ford, pinning one of his hands and lacing their fingers as he trailed kisses down Ford’s jaw and neck. Ford giggled, nuzzling against Fiddleford to return the gesture and buckling to whine into the crook of his neck at the friction of Fiddleford grinding slowly against him. Fiddleford nipped at his ear, shifting a bit to bring his hand down and run it over both their cocks.

Waiting all day really had done a number on Fiddleford, leaving him dripping helplessly already.

That didn’t escape Ford’s notice, and anyone would be hard pressed to get him to admit how much of an ego boost that was.

Fiddleford slicked his fingertips over with precum and slipped his hand lower to tease at Ford’s entrance, making him jolt a bit and tighten his grip around Fiddleford’s other hand.

“Do you want it, darlin’?” Fiddleford purred.

Ford could only muster a shaky nod, desperate to kiss Fiddleford again and curling his toes when his fingers sank into him.

Fiddleford was testing his own patience this time, but he was even more determined to test Ford’s. That wasn’t easy in the slightest, pent up as he was and now having to deal with watching Ford’s face and hearing the strain in his breath as he lazily stroked his cock.

Too much. He couldn’t stand to keep waiting, even as much as he hated to move away for even a second. It was clear Ford hated it, too, gawking at him like a lost puppy while he retrieved lube. Fiddleford clambered back onto the bed and scooted forward on his knees, slicking his cock over teasingly and the feeling of Ford’s expectant gaze raking over him sending a rush through his bones.

“I hope you know I’ve been thinkin’ on this all day, darlin’,”

Ford cracked a cheeky grin, shifting his legs apart, “I can tell. Did you bring that?”

Fiddleford’s eyes darted to the side sheepishly, bringing one hand to half-heartedly shield his face, “Eheh, I might have made a run to the drugstore between sessions,”

Ford tutted in feigned exasperation and laughed, pulling Fiddleford’s hand forward to kiss it, “Desperate much?”

Fiddleford made a face and wasted no time in his response, practically tackling Ford and kissing him ravenously, “Yeah, what of it?”

Ford craned to kiss his cheek, “Are you gonna show me a good time or what?”

Fiddleford answered him with another kiss, struggling to stay patient and push into him slowly. Ford’s breath hitched and he hooked his arms around Fiddleford, practically holding him prisoner against his body. He grunted, flexing his toes as Fiddleford pressed a bit deeper.

“You alright, hun?”

Ford nodded, gritting his teeth, “Uh-huh. Okay. More.”

Fiddleford was more than happy to oblige, “You’re crushin’ me a bit there and not really makin’ this easy,”

Ford relaxed his arms just enough to let Fiddleford wriggle and prop himself up a bit more. A pause, both frozen for a moment by the other’s eyes.

“You can keep going.”

“Alright, alright. At least you’re makin’ feel a little less greedy here.” Fiddleford nearly hilted into him and paused, letting Ford draw a few shaky breaths and adjust to the pressure. Finally he slackened, slowing his breathing.

Fiddleford pressed a kiss to his jaw and straightened up a bit, running his hands over Ford’s body and rolling his thumbs over his nipples, delighted at the way it made him squirm, “Can I move now?”

“You know it. Do your worst.”

Fiddleford shifted, studying Ford’s face carefully as ever as he started to move. Ford winced a bit with another rough grunt, drawing another round of quivering breaths and wrapping his legs around Fiddleford. Again, he wound his arms around Fiddleford’s lean form, clinging to him as if his life depended on being as close as possible. He gasped, digging his nails into Fiddleford’s back as he found the angle he needed and settled into a pace.

“Please, just like that-“

Fiddleford pressed his forehead to Ford’s, “You’re so beautiful,” he faltered, breath catching on a barely stifled sigh.

Ford went red, clinging to him even more tightly and kissing him hard, only to break off again with a whine, “Little faster- y-you can be a little rougher, too,”

“Like that?”

“Yeah,” Ford panted, toes curling, “Fuck, I’m really close, pleasepleaseplease don’t stop-“

Fiddleford hurriedly crushed him into a kiss, unable to hold back a moan at the sheer lewdness in Ford’s voice.

To Ford, the way Fiddleford sounded was always too much. Every time. Ford tensed his legs almost painfully around Fiddleford, raking his nails over his shoulderblades with grit teeth and nothing short of a low growl as he climaxed, eyes fluttering and hazing over in absolute ecstasy.

And that, to Fiddleford, was always too much, spurring him on and the cant of his hips more automatic than a conscious movement at this point. Instinctively, Ford shoved a hand over Fiddleford’s mouth when his voice pitched louder and he shuddered as he rutted into him more quickly, hoping he was biting back the cry that clawed its way up from his chest.

He could have sworn his vision flickered for a moment and left static and stars behind. He met Ford’s eyes again as he slowed to a stop, both of their chests heaving with shaky, panting breaths, and they closed the distance in soft kisses, over and over. Finally, Fiddleford gingerly pulled out, running his fingers through his bangs to brush them out of his eyes and rolling over to snuggle against Ford’s side with a blissed-out sigh.

“You okay, darlin’?” Fiddleford murmured, lazily running his fingers over the soft hair on Ford’s chest.

“Yeah,” Ford purred, shifting to let Fiddleford rest his head on his arm and pulled him close, “I love you,”

“I love you, too,”

“You damn near screamed into my hand, you know?”

“Hush!”

“That’s what you ought to do!” Ford snickered.

Fiddleford rolled his eyes in exasperation, a tired smile pulling at his mouth as Ford nuzzled against him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“All I’m saying is that I’m not so sure I think the Prime Directive makes total sense,” Ford asserted, rinsing his hair out, “I get what they’re going for, but at its core, just as a concept, what’s the issue with sharing technology and information if there will be a benefit? Of course it makes sense to prevent situations where power imbalances could be abused or a civilization could be manipulated or imposed upon, but I think there are plenty of cases where it might do more good to at least share and perhaps kickstart advancement elsewhere, or interfere to prevent needless tragedy.”

Fiddleford ushered Ford out of the way, “Hey, my turn. And, well, that’s exactly the problem. You can be as well meaning as you want, but people misuse their power, their possessions, push nasty ideas around, and so on. That’s already been addressed a few times now, even recently.” 

“I know, I know, but sometimes it might fix precisely those problems, too, if handled right! The Prime Directive gets treated seriously, but comes off as inconsistent and leaves us without a clear picture of how anyone abides by it properly and it seems so broad, if you ask me. Maybe if it’s focus was narrowed more on explicitly preventing unnecessary interference or the abuse of other civilizations, and handled on a more case by case basis, it would make more sense than barring leaving an impact at all, especially when lives are at stake that could easily be spared.” 

Fiddleford tutted thoughtfully, “Sure, but on the other hand, letting a civilization develop its own technology and culture at its own pace is important. What gets created, when, how, how it’s used, and all that is goin’ to be shaped by their history, biology, environment, the resources available, and so on - and ain’t that fascinatin’ to watch? Couldn’t that be a huge opportunity to learn by observin’? Besides, lettin’ everyone go at their own pace might help avoid situations where some folks get ahold of somethin’ they ain’t ready for, you know?” 

“Psh, and you usually argue in favor of working smarter, not harder. Why not make things easier for others, share with them, move forward together? It doesn’t mean you need to alter their culture or anything, and I _said_ case by case basis.” 

“Well, you’re still inevitably changin’ things by interferin’! Isn’t that usually what you’re on about with ecological stuff, anyway? Same principle, isn’t it?” 

Ford mulled this over, “Okay. I see what you mean, but I already admitted there is a distinct possibility of disaster. Even still, how can you _not_ leave some impact if you interact at all? I’d rather state the truth and spend awhile getting that across than let anyone falsely believe I’m a god or something, anyway. But, if you want to go that route, let’s hearken back to Leopold’s _Land Ethic-_ ” 

Fiddleford let his forehead bonk against the wall, defeatedly letting water rush down his face. _Here he goes._

“If we simply expand the concept of land and community to the whole universe, as I’m sure the Federation is doing, _and_ keeping in mind they’re practically a utopia… Where was I? Oh, let’s also consider that even just humans have been sharing ideas and technology since damn near the dawn of time…” 

“Yes, yes, and how many times has even _that_ ended in disaster, genocide, and what have you?”

“I know! I know! But we’re talking about the future here, where hopefully things are better, and they seem to be. And let’s get back to how many conflicts and other problems come down to land, resource shortages, and miscommunication - so say there’s some feasible, clear solution to a problem some civilization is having, or if lives are on the line, but the remedy requires breaking the Prime Directive? I just can’t see the issue in tossing it to the wind at that point. And come on, with how you go on and on about how important communication and sharing information are and-” 

“Invention and the natural progress of societies are practically sacred things, Ford! With how much stuff like that interests you, I’m surprised. Besides, how might we end up messin’ with another culture by shovin’ our way in and all?” 

Ford snorted, scrutinizing his face in the mirror, “I’m not talking about _shoving our way in_ situations, I just said that should be explicitly prevented as much as possible. I’m talking about sharing ideas, information, and technology in cases where it means coming together to make things better for everyone, and telling the truth when necessary. Even _if_ something new is introduced, it’s going to get absorbed and take on a different flavor, influenced by the society it’s introduced to, and it’s going to get adapted to their needs. Just like we see time and time again on Earth now! Now, take that, put that into an _ideal_ situation, a more _hopeful_ one, and it could be brilliant if handled well. It doesn’t mean we can’t watch plenty of societies grow and develop - they never stop doing that, no matter what!” 

Fiddleford sighed in exasperation, but the sound was mostly drowned out by the hiss of the water, “That’s a given, and a fine one, but-” 

Ford cut him off, now getting heated, “See, though, my main problem is just that it’s been presented as so...all over the place. We get the idea, but no clear-cut tenets of the Prime Directive when it comes time to actually demonstrate it. It sure isn’t consistently followed despite being considered so serious, so what’s going on? What’s the deal? Can it be followed, even?” 

“Now, that’s just an issue with storytellin’.” Fiddleford shut off the water, the knob letting out a harsh squeak of complaint, “And it’s makin’ me think your problem here is comin’ down to just holes in _storytellin’._ ” 

Ford shook his head, combing through his hair and spattering more water out of the thick locks, “No. Listen, remember last week’s episode? I get it, I do, even the value of watching that civilization’s future play out naturally, whatever that means, but I can see sharing information about other civilizations, space travel, all that with the general public being a way to overhaul a lot of the problems they were having by making them refocus on the bigger picture! I mean, sure, it _could_ go terribly wrong, or do nothing, but…” he shrugged, “I don’t know. I’d personally be ecstatic if someone came to tell me extraterrestrial life existed, or that starships and interplanetary alliances were an established...thing. I’d really want to know!” 

“But could we handle it?” 

“Sure, why not?” Ford shrugged again, then rubbed at his chin, “Well, okay, maybe not right now, as a species at least. But maybe, maybe it’d bring us together, instead, and fix some of this nonsense going on these days. Like I said, maybe it’d help us all focus on the bigger picture instead of mindless little spats.” 

“But will humans ever cease their territoriality?” 

Ford chewed at his lip, “Hm. Well, again, if we could just expand the concept of land and community to all the Earth, first, and then to the universe, we’d be off to a perfect start. Just...yes, that’s daunting, but that’s right now. If we’re talking about the distant future… and hey, it’s not like every alien civilization is going to be like us - they’re not necessarily going to be beholden to the same habits and hangups as we are, Fidds. They could be completely different from us, maybe far farther along as far as social things go, even if they don’t have much for tech!” 

Fiddleford laughed softly, letting his hand drift across Ford’s back as he walked past, “True, you got me there. And it ain’t like I _disagree_ that we need a clearer picture of everythin’ the Prime Directive entails and that it should be handled more consistently, but man, I don’t know. We’ll see what we find out as it goes on.” 

Ford trailed after Fiddleford back into the room, clambering into bed next to him and kissing his nose, “Alright, truce, we’ll see if we find out more and then we can reassess our opinions.” 

“Now you’re bein’ sensible for once.” 

“For once?” 

Fiddleford shook with a small laugh, leaning over to kiss him, “Don’t play coy. Oh, shoot-” his expression shifted rapidly, “My poster session’s tomorrow! I haven’t run through it yet tonight, I-” 

Ford took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, “You ran through it with me ten times last night and then once again this morning. You were flawless every time.” 

“I screwed up that one time-” 

“Okay, yeah, you tripped up pretty bad this morning when you went through it, but you got back on track!” 

Fiddleford let out a strained noise, “And what if that happens tomorrow in front of some bigshot? _Then_ what? I’ll be ruined!” 

“Stop squirming around so much. You’ll fry your circuits overthinking it and then actually botch it tomorrow.” Ford muttered, eyebrows knit in concern. 

“That’s the opposite of helpful to hear right now!” 

“Hey, hey, look at me, okay?” 

Fiddleford met his eyes and swallowed, nodding once, “Uh-huh?” 

“You’re tired, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s late, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“What would you say to me?” 

“Go to bed, practice it in the morning once?” 

“Yeah, so take your own advice, you goof. You don’t even have to be at it until, what, 2?” 

Fiddleford nodded again, “Mhm. Not till 2, but there’s a bunch of sessions I wanted to go to, and the first one’s at 8…I guess I might have another second to run over it around lunchtime. Ugh! And we’re supposed to have our posters put up by 7:30, though,” 

Ford winced, “Ouch, that is pretty early. Why? Oh, nevermind that. Say we get up at 5:30, that’ll be plenty of time for you to run over it a couple times, get ready, get breakfast with me, and make it down to the convention center in time to get your poster up before they ream you.” 

Fiddleford slackened a bit, letting Ford snake his arms around him and pull him close. 

A pause. 

Fiddleford’s breath sped up a bit again. 

Ford craned to look at him, “...what’s up?” 

“Ford, what if my shirt has wrinkles in it?” 

“You ironed it out the day we got here and it’s been hanging since. It’s fine!” 

“Okay, but...what if?” 

“It’ll be fine. Check it in the morning, there will be time, I swear.” Ford murmured, sleep starting to sink its claws into him, “Go to bed. I love you.” 

“Fine, fine. I love you, too.” 

Ford tightened his arms around Fiddleford, “Don’t be getting up on me. If I can force myself to take a break, so can you.” 

“Alright, already! ‘Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magnetic core memory is a type of random access computer memory that was commonly used from about 1955-1975. Copper wires were hand woven through ferrite beads - a super tedious process that was difficult to automate. I figure Fiddleford would be pretty interested in experimenting with using other materials in it to make it smaller and in trying to find a way to effectively automate its manufacture. 
> 
> In Star Trek, the Prime Directive prohibits interference (well-intentioned or otherwise) with developing civilizations by Starfleet personnel, even at the risk or sacrifice of crew members or ships. It's pretty broad in scope and pretty messy, imo, but that's a ramble for another time. The episode I had them alluding to was "Bread and Circuses".  
> It's been awhile since I've binged through TOS as I ought to so please don't snipe me if I messed anything up haha. 
> 
> Oh, yeah. Land Ethic is a solid read. I can see Ford dragging it into an argument unnecessarily. I'm not projecting, I swear.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lads hang out by a nearby lake. Fidds is pretty determined to charm Ford to death. Music and cheesy references to amateur radio are involved.

The buzzy call of nighthawks soaring and diving over the water ricocheted through the trees and insect choruses were finding their footing now in the warming spring nights. The rush and lap of water over rocks beneath the rickety little dock kept a steady rhythm that complemented the quiet rustle of the wind. The view of the stars wasn’t perfect from here, but it was nice anyhow as the first few winked into view and started to populate the darkening sky. Purple and gold-tinged clouds trucked by on their way, the now rising moon starting to dance on the colors that rippled and melted onto the lake. 

The only other sounds were two quiet voices. Fiddleford swung his legs back and forth off the little dock, letting his toes graze into the cool water as he and Ford talked in amicable little bouts that would almost rhythmically fade back into mellow and comfortable silence.

“I really needed this,” Fiddleford murmured, “It’s nice to get out of town once in awhile. I think I would have gone mad if I’d stayed in our room another minute.”

“It does get stuffy,” Ford agreed, “I’ve been reading so much I thought my vision was about to permanently scramble itself,”

“I know. Thanks for dragging me out tonight.” 

“Anytime. I owe you for last time.”

The next pause between them felt a little more tense. Fiddleford drew a deep breath, skittishly sliding his hand over Ford’s and mentally working himself up. They remained like that, a familiar scene, but Fiddleford swore he was going to choke on his own heart with how insistent it seemed on dangerously jackhammering in his chest.

He really hoped this wasn’t stupid.

“Stanferd?”

“Hm?”

“Mind if I play?”

“I’m more surprised you haven’t started already. Of course,”

Fiddleford twisted to reach for his banjo where it rested on the dock behind him, fussing more than usual as he tried to settle it comfortably in his lap. He almost fumbled his picks into the water as he fished them out of his pockets, the little flare of fear making him jump and clap them firmly against his chest and hiss under his breath.

Ford snickered.

“Hey!”

Ford forced himself to shut up.

Fiddleford slipped his picks over his fingers, checking for the umpteenth time that day that every string was tuned as perfectly as possible, “So, um, nobody really comes out here, right? I mean, um,”

Ford raised an eyebrow, “We’ve never seen anyone all the other times we’ve been out here, have we?”

“No, but,”

“It’s fine. Why are you getting worked up about that now?” Ford kept looking at him curiously. For everything else they’d gotten up to out here, he was mildly concerned and even more confused about what Fiddleford had up his sleeve if it was worrying him so much.

“M-maybe because,” Fiddleford swallowed hard, “I wrote this song for you.”

Ford froze, a deer in headlights, “U-um-“

Fiddleford hesitated for a moment, giving him a nervously questioning look.

Ford blinked a few times, letting that sink in, then grinned warmly, “Well, am I going to hear it or not? You can’t just tease me with something like that!”

“Alright, alright! But please don’t kill me if I mess it up.”

“How could you?”

_ Oh, God, he was doing that eyebrow raise thing again and it was so cute-  _ Fiddleford adjusted his picks on his fingers again, “Easy, ‘cause you’re here and that’s nervewracking!”

Ford narrowed his eyes, a cheeky smirk playing across his lips, “Wait, is this why you’ve been kicking me out to the library so much lately?”

Fiddleford smiled sheepishly, “…m-maybe. But did you get more work done?”

“Well, yes, but-“

“So we both win. Now, hush.”

Ford wanted to squirm out of his skin, glancing over to Fiddleford and back to the water and kicking his legs to try and get the jitters out of his system to no avail. As soon as Fiddleford started picking out the first few notes, Ford feared he’d turn into static or that his heart was going to flutter so much it’d burst into a thousand moths.

He fidgeted with his hands in his lap.

Fiddleford, as usual, seemed to have all his nervousness melt away as soon as he started playing.

Ford fidgeted more, feeling Fiddleford’s eyes now locked intently on him.  _ Oh no, oh no, oh no… _

“I’ve been callin’ CQ

Hopin’ to get a message on through to you

Could I bounce an ‘I love you’ off the moon and back to you?

I can’t even care who hears, I’d yell it straight through space and time

And all I want is to hear your voice come through 5 and 9

There ain’t a soul in this world I’d rather have to call mine

Darlin’, do you copy?

Sorry if my sendin’s sloppy

Darlin’, do you copy?

Were I to bounce an ‘I love you’ off the moon and back to you

Would my voice come through

Or should I send it in CW?

.. .-.. --- …- . -.-- --- ..-“

Ford couldn’t help but bury his face in his hands, laughing self-consciously as Fiddleford finished, a nervous, questioning smile on his face.

“It wasn’t much, sorry,” Fiddleford paused, whole body tense.

Ford drew a shaky breath, brushing his bangs aside and wiping a smudge on his glasses off on the hem of his shirt, “I loved it.”

Fiddleford’s grin grew, “Really?”

“Of course, dear. I can’t believe you… Morse on banjo? Damnit, man, I love it.”

Fiddleford slackened in relief and sniffed, setting his banjo aside again, “I’m glad. Darlin’, are you cryin’?”

Ford pulled his glasses off again and wiped his sleeve across his face, “No, but  _ you’re  _ tearing up!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Shut up!”

“Then make me!”

They collided into a kiss in near perfect synchrony, both collapsing into each other’s arms with raucous laughter. Finally, they reluctantly separated again, keeping their hands linked between them.

Ford stared at the water, fussing with his hair with his free hand and trying to keep his composure. Fiddleford was kicking his legs again, sending up tiny splashes where his toes grazed the surface.

“Are you sure you liked it? It was just somethin’ simple and silly and all, but it’s awfully hard to put any of this to words. I was never eloquent like you,”

Ford made a strained noise, pulling his hand away to shove his glasses up onto his head and bury his face in his palms again, “You’re too much! It was perfect,” he tensed on his next breath and let out a sort of snarl-yell into his hands, “I love you so damn much. I want to hear that song a thousand times.”

Fiddleford giggled, “I can probably make that happen.”

“Good.” Ford dropped his hands again, still grinning broadly, “Ugh, I need to punch something, I think. I feel like I’m about to explode.”

“From what?”

“You being  _ you _ !”

Fiddleford nudged him, “And how do you think I feel every day dealin’ with you?”

“Oh my God…” Ford got to his feet, pacing around the dock rapidly, the worn old wood shaking under his steps. Every so often he’d stop, look at Fiddleford, helplessly smitten, heave a sigh, and return to pacing in frustration. Fiddleford tracked him, up the dock, down again, up, down, across it, across it again, always carefully weaving around the banjo when he marched past it.

Finally, he returned to sit next to Fiddleford with a huff and pulled him into his arms as stubbornly as possible, resting his cheek on Fiddleford’s narrow shoulder.

“Fidds, don’t you ever dare stop being you.”

“Only if you do the same,”

“Deal.”

Fiddleford wriggled awkwardly to get at Ford’s hand and pull it up to kiss it, “I love you.”

Ford, once again as stubbornly as he could manage, snatched Fiddleford’s hand to return the gesture, “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes looking at all this sweet stuff I've written and then looking at what else I've got is like standing on your porch on your beautiful property and watching the most massive storm rolling in on the horizon, knowing the thing is sure to tear your precious adorable farm to shreds. 
> 
> Also I have a wickedly powerful headcanon that Fidds is a ham. I can't remember if I brought it up before, but I don't think I did. I figure he'd love building his own radios and screwing around with antennas and the like to see what he can do.   
> If he ever properly drags Ford into it I can see Ford digging helping with stuff like Skywarn and ARES, and just seeing how far off he can make long distance contacts from (though idk? I can see him being shy about making contacts, too). At this point I figure he's got an interest in it thanks to Fidds but hasn't really had the time to dedicate to properly getting into it. 
> 
> My brain's kaput from work today and I'm rambling now, so I'll shush.


	12. California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end of sorts

“So, I got offered a job out in California.”

Ford stiffened and fumbled his pen, snapped from his focus, “Huh?”

“I got offered a job out in California,” Fiddleford repeatedly, continuing to absentmindedly pick away at his banjo from his perch on his bed, hair splayed up over the cheap wallpaper where his head rested against it, “That engineering one in Palo Alto,”

Ford turned in his chair, adjusting his glasses, “Oh, uh, that’s- that’s great! They got back to you quick. When did you find out?”

Fiddleford twitched his foot in time with the song he was plucking out, “They made like that call I had with ‘em while you were seminar this mornin was goin’ t’be a second interview, but hardly a few questions in and they offered it on the spot! Shocked me, that’s for certain.”

Ford tried to push away the weighty melancholy that started to seep, thick and somber, into his bones. He both did and didn’t want to venture the next question that spilled from his lips, “Um…what did you say?”

Fiddleford tensed, hissing under his breath as he botched a slide, “I gave ‘em a tentative yes. It’s a really good opportunity, I think. The pay is good, so I could send money home if needed and really start savin’ up to get my own projects goin’. The work itself sounds interestin’ enough to start with, and me n’ the interviewer got to talkin’ some more and the area sounds perfect for me. He’s a ham, too, you know! Said half the staff are, even! Isn’t that somethin’? Maybe I could fix up folks’ radios or build some on the side, too.” as he spoke, he picked up the tempo, playing a bit faster.

Ford nodded, half forcing a smile through the worry now wracking him, “That does sound perfect for you. When do they want you to start?”

“We talked it over and agreed on this June, though they wanted me sooner if I could make it. I just don’t think a move like that’s feasible  _ that  _ quick, though.”

“That’s coming up fast.”

“I know.” Fiddleford heaved an uneasy sigh, “I hope I’m ready. I feel like I’m bein’ shoved off a cliff – an excitin’ one, but a cliff nonetheless.”

Ford fidgeted with his pen, “So…you’re sure you don’t want to stay here and at least do a Master’s or something?”

Fiddleford shook his head with a wistful smile, “I don’t think so. I know Weber really wanted me, and it’d be an honor, but I’ve got enough trouble not losin’ my marbles over exams and papers and this and that already. Now hearin’ you fuss over committee meetings and writin’ nonstop and getting’ roped into teachin’ on top of it all? Seein’ the way you’re already workin’ yourself up over publishin’ and comps and defendin’? It ain’t my cup of tea, I guarantee it.”

Ford shrugged in admission, “Yeah, that makes sense, but,” he glanced up at Fiddleford nervously, “What about us, then?”

Fiddleford botched another slide and grit his teeth, stumbling over his next few chords before giving up and setting his banjo aside. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes and slumped, “I don’t know. I was thinkin’ on that all morning when I was tryin’ to make my decision and figure what to do, much less what to say to you. We’ll be real far away from each other… It’d be neat if you could come visit me sometimes, though,”

Something about that stung, “Yeah. We could write and call, and…” Ford trailed off, at a loss. Was this how Stanley had felt, in a way? It was different, of course, but…

Nevermind. He snipped that train of thought like a snagged fishing line. It wasn’t worth wasting his thoughts on him, he did that enough. This was different. This was about Fiddleford, and Fiddleford was going places and so was he. This was different.

Was Stanley okay?

Nevermind. It wasn’t worth wasting his thoughts on. He did that enough.

He re-centered himself on Fiddleford’s voice, “Of course we’ll do that. Don’t be silly.”

“We really will be far away. And I still have a few years left here, minimum,” Ford concurred reluctantly.

Fiddleford exhaled roughly. Ford understood it as an agreement, “Exactly. And who knows where you’ll be getting’ whisked off to after that? You got adventure in your blood, darlin’.”

A thin smile just barely tugged at the corner of Ford’s mouth, “Yeah, and those phone calls won’t be cheap. But, it doesn’t mean we won’t end up near each other again someday!”

“Someday, and maybe, that’s the problem.” Fiddleford muttered, “And you’re already busy enough, and no doubt this is all going to keep me plenty occupied, too. I don’t know. What do you think?”

Ford took a long sip of his coffee, mulling it over, “I…I don’t know, either. I don’t want to make you feel tied down, most of all.”

“I’m more worried about makin’  _ you  _ feel that way,” Fiddleford scooted to the edge of the bed, bouncing his leg and letting his chin fall into his hand, eyebrows knit in frustration, “But this job, the location, everythin’… it sounds like a dream come true.”

“No, no, I don’t want you to pass that up. Never. Please, take it, if that’s what you want to do. I think Weber wants you for good reason, but,” Ford sighed, “I’d hate to be smothered or to feel stuck to anyone or anyplace. I won’t do that to you. And, well, mechanically inclined things are pretty in demand, aren’t they? So someday, maybe we will end up near each other again. Or maybe…”  _ Maybe you could be wherever I end up once I finish here. _

Fiddleford snorted a sad excuse of a laugh, “Stanferd Pines, what am I goin’ to do with you? You know what I mean… Sometimes the place does matter. We’re talkin’ about Palo Alto, here. It’d be the perfect place to get my work off the ground, make some connections, maybe make some more friends for once.”

Ford slumped a bit in his chair, pulling his glasses off to rub at his eyes, “Yeah. You’re right.”  _ And a little part of me hates that.  _

Fiddleford hesitated, running his fingers through his bangs. He felt Ford’s eyes fix on him and self-consciously returned his hands to his lap, lightly drumming out a beat on his thighs, “Besides, even if… I mean, people talk. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your reputation.”

Ford conceded with a slow nod, “We’ve gotten enough suspicious looks here already.”

“That’s exactly my point. It’d be terrible for us to kick each other off a cliff right when we’re gettin’ our lives started just because we couldn’t let go of somethin’ doomed in the first place.”

Ford flinched at that, “Doomed? I don’t..”

Fiddleford leveled a look at him.

“…Okay. Yeah. Well, it  _ could  _ be fine-“

“It could.” Fiddleford shifted uneasily, “But the odds ain’t stacked in our favor. What about when my folks start houndin’ me again about when I’m gonna settle down? I only barely got them off my back because I said I wanted to focus on school, and I did just that… at least I did until you came along and ruined that, heh,” he chuffed shyly, a pained affection in his eyes.

“Might you say I was a wrench in your plans?”

Fiddleford couldn’t hold back a small laugh at Ford’s wry smile, “Yeah, the best wrench. A damn pipe wrench lobbed clean through my heart with no mercy.”

It was a moment of bittersweet relief to see Fiddleford smiling, even a little. “That’s an honor. Mh… my family, too, but I think they’re giving up on that pretty fast with me. I hope they give up faster. What are your folks doing with Thistlebert? He isn’t married or anything,”

“Stanferd, you met him. Everyone and their dog knows he’s sweet and reliable when he needs to be, but not really what anyone would consider marriage material… Heheh. Shoot, my folks are already bound to have mixed feelings about me moving so far off, too. They always wanted me to come back and stay in the area.”

A pause.

Fiddleford continued, almost trying to reassure himself more than Ford, “Maybe all this matters even less, then, since I’ll be so far off. Nobody will even know me. I won’t be held down to stupid expectations as much…” he sighed, “I don’t know. We have a couple months, yet, but if I’m bein’ honest with you I’m thinkin’ that by then it’ll be in both our best interests to chalk this up to a good thing and get on with it. I can’t… I just can’t risk your success, and I don’t exactly want to risk my own, either, and no way am I goin’ to limit you because of where I want to be.”

“And I don’t want to hold you back, either,” Ford agreed, “But you still can’t stop me from keeping an eye out for anything up your alley wherever I end up.”

“I do appreciate that, hun, but I just said not to let me hold you back. You always wanna blaze off on your own, I want you to do that. If you do find someone, I want to hear all about them, even if I get jealous. If you don’t, well, I want to hear all about everythin’ else you’re doin’ too, but that’s a given.”

“Promise to keep me updated, then, too?”

“I promise I will. Even if...even if things aren’t great for, uh,  _ this _ , I wouldn’t dream of trading your friendship for the world. If that’s okay with you.” 

Ford was on him in a flash, pulling him into a crushing hug and nuzzling into the crook of his neck, “God, Fidds, of course! You’re the best person I’ve ever met.” he drew a breath, trying and failing to keep it from quivering, “I don’t want to just let go of you and let all this make us all stupid.” 

Fiddleford clung to him in turn, stroking his hair softly, occasionally winding a coil of it around his fingers, “I wouldn’t dream of it. Maybe if you start takin’ radio more seriously… I wouldn’t wanna hog up a frequency and ragchew with anyone else.” 

Ford laughed, but it came shaky as he bit back tears, “Yeah. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind being a public nuisance with you once in awhile.” 

“I’ll bounce an ‘I love you’ off the moon and back to you. I almost wouldn’t care who hears.” 

That did it in. Ford broke, tightening his arms around Fiddleford and pressing a kiss to his neck, nuzzling into him even harder, “God damnit, I love you so much, you asshole. I’m going to miss this.” 

“Me, too. Shoot, you really ain’t makin’ this easier... We’ll make the time we got left well worth it, and then…” 

Another melancholy smile pulled at Ford, “Into the wild and wonderful unknown.” 

“Yep. Into the wild and wonderful unknown, and we’ll be okay, wherever, however we end up.” 

“It’s so strange hearing you be the one saying things will be okay.” 

“I only say things when I’m certain of them.” 

“I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still am not all that satisfied with how this chapter came out, but I've fussed with it enough for something I was intending to write casually.


	13. Piazza, Tennessee Catcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time marches on, as it tends to do.  
> Ford has just started his work in Gravity Falls, and meanwhile Fiddleford is still pushing to get his computer business properly going. 
> 
> The last thing Ford was expecting was to be called for a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finishing this chapter during a bout of sleeplessness and am feeling antsy, so, we'll see how that went. 
> 
> I had a lot of trouble deciding how Ford might behave when tipsy. On that note, head's up for a decent amount of alcohol use this chapter.

The phone ringing startled Ford from his reading. With a grunt, he begrudgingly got up from his desk to answer it.

“Stanford Pines speaking.”

“Stanferd! It’s Fiddleford-“

“Oh!” Ford chuckled awkwardly, bringing his hand to his mouth, “Hey, it’s great to hear from you,”

“Yeah, I got your postcard but you never called like you said you would! I was gettin’ worried!”

Ford twisted the phone cord around his fingers and cleared his throat, “Uh-huh, I‘ve been pretty busy since I got here,”

Fiddleford snorted, half jokingly, “Well, I’m cross with you for forgettin’ about me. Kiddin’! Mostly. How are you likin’ Oregon?”

“I’m liking it a lot. It’s absolutely gorgeous here!”

“I’m real happy to hear that, man. How’s your research goin’?”

Ford puffed up a bit, “Off to a strong start! You wouldn’t _believe_ half the stuff I’ve found not even a few steps from my house! I’d almost say I’m in over my head, but I finally feel like I’m truly in my element. Oh, yeah, my house is almost finished! This local family’s been working on it, and they’re really nice people. I keep insisting on helping them with what they have left, but they won’t have it. I just got moved in last month and it’s perfect!”

Fiddleford smiled softly at the excitement in Ford’s voice, “I’m pleased as peaches to hear that. I got some news for you, too!”

“Oh? About your computers and whatnot?”

“It ain’t ‘whatnot’! Whatever. That’s all goin’ pretty well, little bit of a slow start, though, but that wasn’t what I was gonna tell ya. You know how me n’ Emma-May started goin’ together again when she moved out here?”

Ford swallowed, “Yeah, why?”

“We’re gettin’ married!”

“Seriously?! I, uh, that’s wonderful! I’m…I’m really happy for you both.”

“Yes! Heheh, we’re hopin’ to have the wedding in the next few months, actually-“

Ford blinked, “So soon? I could swear you two _just_ started dating,”

“Six months, now! And yeah, why not? We don’t need anythin’ fancy to party, you should know that about us by now. I’d rather put the money and effort to gettin’ important people here with us. Anyway, on that note, I needed to call you to ask you somethin’ important…” Fiddleford sucked down an anxious breath, “I was wonderin’ if you’d do me the honor of bein’ my best man. I understand if you’re busy with work and such, but if you’ve got the time and would be willing, I’d even spot you for gas or anythin’ to get down here. It’s also no trouble if you want to stay over with me, or I can put you up wherever you please. I just want you here.”

The words seemed to clunk along as Ford registered them, “I, ah, I’d… I’d be honored! Of course, of course!” He ran a hand through his hair, still racing to process his own reaction, “And don’t worry about all that. Funny story, actually, my car got destroyed on one of my first few days in town. I haven’t gotten around to getting a new one yet, but everything around here is in walking distance, anyway, so I haven’t really had a need. It’s on the docket, though, and, well, planes and buses exist, too. I’ll make it one way or another.”

“Wait, wait, wait, back up a bit there. Your car got destroyed? How on earth did you manage that?”

A cheeky smile pulled across Ford’s face, “I’ll have to tell you in person. You won’t believe me otherwise!”

“I’m already skeptical. Last I recall, you think a little bit of speeding makes you some kinda hellion.”

“I wasn’t even in it.”

“You’re just givin’ me more questions!”

“I’ll tell you in person – trust me, I need to see the look on your face! Anyway, really, don’t put yourself out for me. Getting a wedding together sounds like enough trouble already.”

“I _ain’t_ so you hush up, Pines! I’d tear the stars down to get you here by my side.”

Something shattered inside Ford at those words. He promptly tried to dismiss the feeling, but it was stubborn, “Y-yeah. Same to you…thank you.” _Wait, same to you? That didn’t make sen-_

Fiddleford was talking again and didn’t seem to notice, “Alright, now we’re talkin’! I’ll keep you posted, and you just keep watchin’ your mail. It’s a bit of a formality, but I sent you an invitation the other day so it should be in your hands soon. Of course, no need for you to RSVP or anything unless you’d like to show off your pretty handwritin’ to Emma-May some more, heheh!”

Ford tensed, “I just might have to, but we’ll see.”

“She’s already talkin’ about ropin’ you into helpin’ us with thank you cards,” Fiddleford snickered.

“Oh. Aaand no, thank you!”

“Shoot, I thought so. Anyway, I’d better let you get back to whatever you were doin’. It was real nice to hear your voice again. I’ll talk to you soon, alright, darlin’- eeeuh, oops. Sorry, heheh, little to used to sayin’ that…um, usually, usually I’m callin’ Emma-May, you know. Well, I’ll let you go for real now. You take care!”

A tight knot twisted in Ford’s gut.

_Please don’t._

_And please call me that again._

It took effort to respond, “Heh, don’t worry about it. Talk to you soon.”

The click of the phone resounded with Ford’s heart dropping. He heaved a sigh, boxed the pesky onslaught of emotion away, and tried his damnedest to incinerate it. Unfortunately, it was increasingly apparent that loneliness and longing were fireproof.

He brushed his bangs aside and adjusted his glasses, deciding that distraction was in order. It was about time to go open his traps anyway and there was always more reading to get done, perhaps with the company of a stiff drink tonight.

\---

The sun was bright overhead as Fiddleford rolled his window down, an ecstatic grin plastered on his face, “Well, howdy, Stanferd! It’s so nice seein’ you again!”

Ford huffed as he came around and settled into the passenger seat of Fiddleford’s car, “Yeah, it’s great to see you, too! It’s odd to see you not in a truck, though. Did you ever scrap the old thing?”

“Scrap? How could I!” Fiddleford balked, “She runs perfectly good even now. I sold it to Misty since I know she’ll take good care of it. Anyway, nice as this thing is, I almost want an excuse to get a truck again…” he sighed wistfully, “Feels weird bein’ in such a big place, even after livin’ here awhile.”

“And now I’m the one in the middle of nowhere,” Ford chuckled, “Interesting how we swapped like that, huh? Anyway, are you sure you don’t mind giving me a ride and everything?”

“Are you in my car right now?” Fiddleford cracked a grin, “Of course!”

“Well, I know your wedding is tomorrow, so I thought maybe you’d want time to relax or quintuple check you got everything in order, not chauffeur me around.”

Fiddleford shook his head, almost sliding his hand over Ford’s for a moment before catching himself, “Nothin’ else I’d rather be doin’. We got everything as sorted as it’s gonna get, anyway.”

Ford nodded in admission, “I believe you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you unprepared for anything.”

“Unlike _some_ folks,” Fiddleford laughed, elbowing Ford playfully.

“Hey! Things always turn out alright, and even in a worst case scenario I learn something about how to plan better next time.”

“You’ll learn that lesson when pigs fly.”

“You’d be the one making flying pigs just to prove a point.” 

“Ford, given how clever and tough they are, that’s a terrifying prospect. I’d probably try it. Maybe. It might give them ideas, though, get them actin’ above their raisin’. Who can say? Anyway, you still enjoyin’ Gravity Falls?”

Ford lit up immediately, a warmth settling in Fiddleford’s chest at the familiar excitement in his voice, “Oh, God, absolutely! It’s beautiful. The trees are so tall and really make you feel tiny. The town itself is alright…I’ve found most of the people leave something to be desired, though.”

“What’s new? Ain’t that everywhere?”

“You have a point. But would you believe I’ve found a ton of strange creatures out there? Everything from cryptids we thought were just legends and fairytales to things I’m sure have never been seen, much less described, anywhere else! It’s amazing! I’ve been trapping off and on since I got there, and I don’t think I’ve had an empty set a single morning that I’ve gone to check them. Sometimes it’s just squirrels and opossums, but even they’re fun and often a little off kilter!”

“You’re not pullin’ my leg here, are you?”

“Would I do that?”

Fiddleford shot him an accusatory look.

“Okay, but I’m seriously not this time, I wouldn’t pull your leg about something like this! I’ll get you proof if you want it!”

“I would be curious to see, I’ll admit, sets my nerves off a little, though. Are you gettin’ any of those new species descriptions published yet?”

Ford drew a breath, “Well, not yet. I’ve been writing, yes, but I want to get everything compiled instead of publishing a bunch of trivial little articles. I think if I just hold my breath a bit longer, I could start working on writing up something much bigger and more comprehensive about the whole area, instead.”

“You keep me updated on that. I want to read it as soon as it’s published, and if you _do_ get somethin’ else put out in the meantime, you better tell me, too.”

“You’ll be the first to know!”

“Good. I count it as an honor.”

Ford grinned at that, heart swelling. A silence now stretched between them. Ford alternated between staring listlessly out the window at the passing buildings and stealing little glances back over at Fiddleford. A few times he swore he’d caught Fiddleford looking back from the corner of his eye and turned away quickly, hoping he wasn’t being obvious. Hopefully he didn’t notice, but it was Fiddleford, and that meant it was unlikely anything was missed. Ford tried to focus his attention on a couple pigeons engaged in a riotous sidewalk spat as they pulled to a stop at a red light.

Fiddleford sighed heavily.

“Everything alright?” Ford ventured, instinctively snapping to attention and gingerly taking his hand, “Nervous?”

A meek smile pulled at the corner of Fiddleford’s mouth and he shifted his hand. Ford retracted rapidly, tucking his arms close to himself and folding his hands in his lap, “Yeah, yeah. I’m just a bit nervous. And excited to see you. You’re comin’ out with us tonight, right? Thistlebert said he really wanted to see you again after the rehearsal.”

“I suppose I could babysit you all, if I have to,”

Fiddleford huffed in amusement, “I figured you still weren’t keen on gettin’ hammered in public. But you’re playin’ pool with me, and that’s final.”

“Deal, but only if you play darts with me!”

“I reckon I could manage that. Oh, I got your favorite stashed back at home, by the way. If you’re so kind as to go out on a limb for all us hooligans and spare us a nasty taxi fare, bottle’s all yours soon as we get back n’ I can finally give you an excuse to cut loose again. How about that for a deal?”

Ford forced an overdramatic sigh, unable to hide a wistful smile as they continued on down the bustling little street, now starting to brim with lunch hour traffic, “Okay, deal.”

\---

“So- so Misty’s up in the combine, right, and I go over’n-“

Ford zoned out of the conversation again, gaze absentmindedly settling on Fiddleford, who was nodding along to Thistlebert’s story and holding back laughter. Fiddleford knocked back another swig of beer, wiping away a bit that ran down his chin. Ford swallowed uncomfortably, drumming his fingers on the rickety, slightly sticky table.

Fiddleford piped up as Thistlebert trailed off, “Well, I got a story about Misty, too, but this time was when were out shootin’ clays. Oh, John, you’re gonna love this one, I don’t think I told it to you before. Anyway, we were out shootin’ clays in the neighbor’s pit back in high school, right?”

Ford kept watching, straining to keep his focus on Fiddleford’s voice through the chaotic clamor and bustle of the bar around them. He found himself half-heartedly questioning just how long they intended to be here.

“…and she just _blasts_ the damn tree clean in half! Sure, it was a little one, but anyway I go and holler to everyone, ‘Hey y’all! Christmas came early this year and we fetched you a pretty little Julymas tree!’ Thistlebert was ready to haul the sucker home just for a laugh, but by that time old man O’Leary had heard the ruckus we were kickin’ up and wasn’t too happy we were on his property for the umpteenth time that month. Shoot, coulda pissed myself the five odd miles down the road home! He’s takin’ potshots at us left and right, and I did the fastest headcount of my life before I had that rusty old Ford roarin’ out of there, kickin’ up dust straight down to the dinosaur bones below!”

Ford perked up at his name with a quiet “Hm?”, realized his error, and settled back again to resume lazily drumming his fingers, chair teetering on its odd leg as he shifted his weight. He stopped abruptly and shoved his hands into his lap as he felt a passing patron’s eyes fix on him curiously, desperately hoping they didn’t open their mouth.

“Oh, Ford, you remember this’n, dontcha, hun?” Fiddleford cut through his thoughts as he leaned close, jostling him lightly.

“Ah, y-yeah, didn’t your neighbor dump the half of the tree Misty shot off on your doorstep?”

“Sure did!” Fiddleford laughed, “Might have part near blocked the door shut, but I was sure glad to have somethin’ between us. I was petrified! Oh, our folks were _furious_ ! I don’t know how I made it out of that alive with how much of a beating I caught for it! Hey, you ain’t been talkin’ much. You should tell everyone about the weird thingamajigs and such you’ve been seein’ in Oregon! Makes _me_ shake, I can say that much!”

Ford shrugged sheepishly, adjusting his glasses with a shy grin, “Well, I told Fiddleford about this earlier, but my car got smashed and dragged off by a huge monster one of my first few days up there..”

John, one of Fiddleford’s local friends, looked at him skeptically. Another of Fiddleford’s cousins spoke up emphatically, “Shiiiit, me, too, but this was when I was out by Frozen Head and-“

Fiddleford cut him off, “Didja see what it looked like?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Ellis, your stories are worth a million times less than Thistlebert’s. Outta here with these fish tales.”

Ellis harrumphed, crossing his arms, “I swear it wasn’t a rock. I saw what I saw.”

Thistlebert now raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, I ain’t buyin’ it. You was probably more hammered than I usually am.”

“And? What’s your point?” Ellis retorted sharply.

Fiddleford rubbed his temples as the inevitable bickering broke out between them and slumped close to Ford again, “I love them, but how am I related to these people?”

Ford nodded sagely, patting him stiffly on the back, “I know how you feel.”

“Ugh…”

Ford’s curiosity had gotten the best of him and he listened in again, leaving Fiddleford to bury his face in his arms on the table. Admittedly, he spoke up partially in hopes of diffusing the little spat that had broken out and left John awkwardly looking on, “Well, I half believe you, Ellis. I mean, maybe? It happened to me, after all.”

Ellis brightened up, tone gracious, “And I half thank you for havin’ a little faith in me. You ain’t half bad!”

Fiddleford snapped up to fix Ford with a mortified look that said _Don’t encourage him!_ With a sigh, he tried to stop the inevitable headache-inducing ramble Ellis was poised to launch into, “Heh, is he half good, though?” he nudged Ford roughly, “Oh, don’t gimme that look, sweetheart! You’re all good and then some.”

Ford felt a flush of heat color his face and glanced off to the side, pressing his hand against his cheek. He didn’t try to mask the twinge of irritation in his voice, “Aheh, you’re all going to be terrors to deal with in the car, aren’t you?”

Ford’s assumption wasn’t entirely incorrect.

Thistlebert spoke up as they gathered into the car, “So, Stanferd, you got a girl right now?”

“No, not right now.”

“No kiddin’? I’m surprised, you clean up damn well.”

“He’s one of them lucky ones that’s handsome even if he was covered in pig shit,” Fiddleford slurred, “I’d know!”

Ford felt the color drain from his face, mind racing for how to do damage control if Fiddleford didn’t shut his mouth that instant.

Ellis laughed, “C’mon, you sure you ain’t talkin’ about me?”

“Ellis, you’re missin’ half your teeth and you’re hardly twenty-two.”

Ford didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath, exhaling in relief, though now he was sure he was overheating. Crisis averted, at least. 

Ellis kept on, “Oh, shut it. Heeehh! Your pal’s a sensitive type, ain’t he? Look, he’s blushin’ worse’n when he met yer ma!”

Maybe not.

“Sweet Moses, you guys, can I focus on the road?!” Ford barked, now crimson to the tips of his ears.

“Uh-oh, sounds like you shoulda gotten ‘im two more bottles, Fidds!”

“John, I can tell y’right now that’s a terrible idea.”

“Well, now I wanna see him drunk.”

“John-“

“I’m right here!” Ford growled, “Can you please talk about something that isn’t me?”

They all froze at the bite in his voice. Fiddleford shifted in the passenger seat and coughed awkwardly.

Thistlebert piped up again in an attempt to cut through the quiet, “Say, did I tell y’all about the deal I got on that meat grinder?”

John cocked his head curiously as Ellis straightened up in interest, “Naw, you didn’t! Was it that one Anna was talkin’ about puttin’ up for sale?”

“The very same!”

“Oh, that looked like a real nice one.”

“It really is! I’d let you come by and use it sometime!”

Fiddleford craned around to join in, “I’ll almost have to come home for some sausage once you get some made. You always made the best!”

Thistlebert puffed up happily, “I’ll save some for ya if y’do!”

“Please! Ford knows how good it is. John, man, you gotta try it one of these days!”

After an admittedly stressful drive, Ford was grateful for Fiddleford’s promised reward. They found themselves sat next to each other on Fiddleford’s kitchen floor as the night crawled by.

“This reminds me an awful lot of college right after finals,” Fiddleford smiled softly, warm in the melancholic nostalgia of the scenario.

“Yeah, heheh,” Ford murmured his agreement, taking another drink, “I kinda miss it.”

“Oh, c’mon, you were still there ‘til what, hardly a year ago?”

“Well, sure, but…”

“How many degrees could a man even _need_?”

Ford shot him an indignant look, “As many as he damn well pleases!”

Fiddleford tried to stubbornly hold his steely gaze, but they both failed quickly and broke off into a bout of laughter. Ford slumped against Fiddleford as he composed himself, huffed a contented sigh, and wriggled a bit to get more comfortable. Fiddleford blinked, a rush of heat coming to his cheeks. Matters were only made rapidly worse by Ford lazily reaching up and brushing the back of his hand along his jaw with a contemplative grumble. Fiddleford nervously jostled his leg and swallowed hard.

Ford giggled softly, eyes half lidded, “Your face is so scratchy already. Try a lighter maybe,”

“’Scuse me, what now?”

“Lighter. Faster to shave with fire.”

Fiddleford slackened, letting his cheek rest against Ford’s hair, “Only you’d come up with somethin’ as ridiculous as that. How many times have you burnt your face?”

“I’d rather not answer that, dear,”

Fiddleford ignored that, “I’m just sayin’, just ‘cause I’m a pyro too don’t mean I don’t have _some_ sense, n’ takin’ a lighter t’yer face doesn’t sound very sensible at all,”

“But s’faster. N’ badass.”

“Alright, cowboy.”

“I’m a sailor though, you know that!” Ford grinned with another little snicker and nearly craned to kiss Fiddleford, but froze and thought better of it, still half-heartedly nuzzling him as he slackened again.

Fiddleford went red again, tapping out a beat with his hand on the linoleum of the floor. Another drink sounded nice around now, but…

He glanced back to Ford, much more aware of his weight and warmth against him than he cared to be.

That might go somewhere regrettable, and it wasn’t a ‘maybe’ he wanted a definite answer to. He cleared his throat, “So, euhh, I’m trustin’ y’got a good speech ready for tomorrow?”

Ford nodded, still leaning heavily against Fiddleford, “Mmhmm, it’s gonna be great. I have no idea how this’s s’posed to work, though,”

“Long as you don’t embarrass me too bad, we’re good.”

“No promises.”

“Stanferd-“

“Shh, shh, I’m messin’ with you!” Ford snickered, nuzzling into his shoulder.

A pause settled in between them. As it dragged on, Fiddleford had had started absentmindedly petting Ford’s hair. He didn’t seem to mind, but for all Fiddleford could tell, he might have fallen asleep on him.

Ford finally stirred, shifting to a more comfortable position, “So, you excited?”

Fiddleford stiffened, hand still in Ford’s hair, “Yeah, ‘course I am!”

“Mm…she makes you really happy, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, ‘course! And we’ve known each other so long, not like it’ll take much for us to figure it out. Em’s a wonderful woman. I don’t know what she sees in me, but I’ll count my blessings. I just hope I can make her half as happy as she makes me.”

Ford stretched out his legs and yawned, rolling his shoulders, “Yeah. I don’t get all that, but she seemed re’ll nice’n I met her. I hope she considers herself lucky though, get someone like you.”

“Now you’re just bustin’ out all the flattery.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“No.”

“Exactly! So take th’compliment, damnit.”

Fiddleford forced a sigh, rolling his eyes, “Alright, alright. You ever thought about it? This sort of thing, y’know?”

Ford sputtered a laugh, “As if! First, with who, and _why_? I think I’d feel trapped.”

“I don’t know! You really ain’t met anyone up there yet?”

Ford snorted, “Man, I can count on my hand the number of people that have ever caught my eye, and I don’t even need the extra finger to do it. Besides, I’ve got my work to do.” A pause, “I’m glad you’re happy, though. You deserve it.”

Fiddleford started up jostling his leg again, “Thank you. It means a lot.”

“…Ford.”

“…”

“Ford.”

“…what?”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

Fiddleford shifted awkwardly, trying to pry Ford’s arm off of him, “First, quit clingin’ like that, you’re gonna crush my ribs. Second, quit lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Them doe eyes. You’re doin’ the thing again.”

Ford giggled, headbutting Fiddleford in the chin and letting his head slump against Fiddleford’s chest, “Pff, sorry, I just like looking at you.”

“Thank you. Don’t know what you’re lookin’ at though.”

“You, I just said so.”

“What am I goin’ to do with you?” Fiddleford heaved a sigh, “We should probably go to bed.”

Ford blanched, a puzzled look coloring his face, “Huh? But-“

Fiddleford’s face went twice as hot, “N-not like that! But we do have to be up pretty early, I’m already bound to be feelin’ it…”

“Yeah…” Ford relaxed for a moment, then pulled away reluctantly, sitting up and stretching luxuriously, “You’re right.”

“Please don’t be too hungover tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fiiiine. You worry too much. But will you be fine?”

“I mean, it goes for me, too.”

“No, you ‘kay?”

“Yeah, of course, why?”

Ford shrugged, at a loss for words.

“Go to bed. I’ll get you some blankets.”

“Okay, okay, fine, heheh!”

Ford was torn the entirety of the next day, mind oscillating wildly between ecstatic joy and a forlorn sort of longing and melancholy. Emma-May was even lovelier than he remembered, and he understood the absolute delight plastered on her face all through the day. It suited her well. She and Fiddleford looked good together, clearly meshed as well as they did even years ago. 

Something still felt off to him, and he couldn’t quite shake it. He chalked it up to pangs of residual jealousy and the nagging ‘what-ifs’ of other possible realities. 

Ones where he had Emma-May’s place. 

But it was stupid. He forced the persistent thoughts away again for the umpteenth time that day. It probably didn’t mean anything to feel a little off, especially so far outside of one’s comfort zone, right? 

He chalked it up to his feelings being a little stuck since they had been romantically involved the last time they saw each other. Clearly, his mind just needed a little adjustment - he was too conditioned to different expectations, dead ones that were crushed by the weight of time. 

Time moved too fast. It seemed to careen forward like a maddened war horse on a charge with no end in sight, pulling along the fabric of reality into some far-off void from where there was no return. 

This horse responded to no commands, no shouted order nor tug of the reins. 

And the wedding just had to be by the sea, as if to mock him even more with the mere concept of time and how futile it was to slow it, much less turn it back. Reality was too busy pounding idealism to dust on its dogged stampede forward. Time didn’t sit around for fanciful dreams to manifest, and as far as a human could perceive, it didn’t care in the least for wishful what-ifs of any kind. None of it mattered, and yet a thousand things crushed and clamored around in Ford’s head. 

The tallships on the horizon sent a new kind of rush through him, a lonely yearning, an overwhelming wave of regret, fear, utter agony he could drown in if he let it take him. 

Stanley would probably get along with Fiddleford. They could talk shop about cars all day. He’d probably love the chaotic contraptions Fiddleford designed and get a real kick out of his ideas. 

Stanley would probably get along with Emma-May, too. She’d probably love all his jokes and tell ones that were ten times worse. If they grew up together, she would have been at all his football games scream-cheering him on. 

He and Thistlebert would bring out the worst in each other, time and again. 

Where was Stanley, anyway? Was he okay? 

_He’s fine. He’s got to be fine. He might be a jackass, but he was a resourceful jackass._

_Or in jail. But he’s safe, right?_

It brought forth a twinge of a pained smile and twisted a knot in Ford’s chest. 

What would Stanley think of the jealousy that kept creeping into his heart right now? He was supposed to be one thing right now: happy. Overjoyed. Completely over the moon for his best friend. He was getting married to someone who loved him unconditionally and had for nearly his whole life. He had a great job, a cute little house in a good neighborhood with good friends in a good place. 

What was there to even be remotely unhappy about? 

Something still felt off. 

He couldn’t quite shake it, try as he might, and he cursed himself internally over and over and over for forgetting the value of time. It was always forward, forward, forward, and before he knew it every single thing that seemed certain and happy and comfortable and hopeful had this terrible tendency to turn to dust, and he’d forget to look until some gale-force wind stole it from him. 

Well, there were things to be grateful for. 

His best friend was getting married to the love of his life, right? 

He was on track to get off the ground with this whole computer idea he had, right? 

And as for himself, Ford had a perfect little lab in the middle of nowhere with… Well, he was in a good place. He liked it, at least. It was quiet and beautiful and bizarre. There was always work to do and questions to ask, and that’s all that was needed to keep a man company. 

Time went too fast. It careened like a maddened war horse. 

It felt like it was trampling him right now and it made it nearly unbearable to sit still.

Fiddleford’s voice cut like a knife through his hazy contemplations, “...and I think my friend, old colleague and the best best man I could ask for, Stanford Pines, has a few things to say, too-” 

That horse may as well have just kicked him in the skull. He stood up and cleared his throat.


	14. Who else but you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford receives an unexpected phone call

Ford listened to the clock ticking across the room, a nervous beat to match his mood while he was slumped across his couch, arm loosely tossed over his forehead. He sighed heavily and once again got to his feet and started for the phone. He froze as he got closer to it, hesitated a moment, then turned on his heel and returned to collapse onto the couch with an even rougher sigh, thoroughly exasperated with himself and this entire situation.

What would Fiddleford even think?

Ford couldn’t deny it had been an embarrassingly long time since he’d called or written him, and it left him questioning what Fiddleford even thought of him these days, or if he thought of him. He was probably comfortably settled in with his wife, getting on with his life. He probably had good neighbors, good friends, and an even better job than before. Maybe he was still chasing that computer malarkey, too.

Ford wondered if it even mattered whether he called. He ran the conversation’s potential trajectories over in his head, the million iterations it could take having worn ruts in his thoughts and each possibility zipping by quicker than the last to run up against the countless ones ahead of it in a nervous cacophony.

Another consideration: would Bill care? He clearly valued collaboration, so Ford figured he’d be ecstatic at another brilliant mind to bring this dream to fruition.

Right?

Did it matter, anyway?

Perhaps, he thought, he should just treat this like a normal phone call with the simple, friendly purpose of catching up. He was curious to see how he was doing and how his work was going, anyhow, and the conversation could go from there. Besides, who else could help? He wasn’t sure he’d  _ want  _ it to be anyone else, either.

Ford wasn’t sure how much longer he could stomach repeatedly walking into mental wall after mental wall, or how many more times he could handle crumbling under his own embarrassing limitations over and over and over, ad infinitum. Bill hadn’t appeared in awhile despite his desperate hopes for help, and that certainly wasn’t abating his unease in the slightest. Sleep had come altogether dreamless lately. He got to his feet and once again started out of the room towards the phone, managing to get so far as picking it up and glancing at the old note with Fiddleford’s number scrawled across it.

Nope.

He let it down with a click and scurried back to his room, gnawing at his hand.

He wondered what it said about him if he couldn’t figure this out. Thinking about that was like looking precariously over the edge of an abyss of pure, concentrated discomfort. Maybe Bill was leaving him alone to figure it out as a challenge, a test of his intellect and resilience. Fiddleford even said time and again, in spite of his own perfectionism, that failure, getting stuck, and being clever and patient enough to push through in the face of struggles was integral to being a scientist worth his salt. Maybe he was right, after all, and maybe Bill was pushing him to take this very same lesson to heart. Maybe he was pushing Ford to find more confidence in himself by leaving him hanging to prove himself and his ability in the face of insurmountable odds.

It seemed like a strange lesson after talking up the need for collaboration.

Balance. That had to be it, Ford figured. Bill was probably trying to hammer home some point about the need for balancing both of those concepts.

Either way, it  _ would  _ be nice to hear Fiddleford’s voice again and make sure all was well with him, and it’d be especially nice to talk to someone about his work who wouldn’t act like he’d grown two heads and shaken off the last of his common sense. A smile tugged at the corner of Ford’s mouth picturing Fiddleford’s face upon hearing about the portal and being requested to come help. He’d surely be grabbing at his hair and bouncing his knee and babbling away at doubletime!

He’d mulled it over for a couple days already and a decision had to be made – it was give up or get help, and now or never. Just a call. Just a hello to see where it goes. Nothing too hard.

Ford steeled his resolve and returned to the phone for the umpteenth time that day, purposefully dialed Fiddleford’s number, and held his breath, twisting the phone cord around his fingers as it started to ring.

It hardly finished one ring before there was a click and a crackle.

”Hello? Fiddleford Computermajigs?”

Ford’s heart hammered in his chest, “Hey, it’s Stanford! How are ya, buddy?”

Fiddleford froze, clenching the phone in his hand before an enormous grin exploded over his face, “Well if it ain’t wonderful to hear from you! It’s been awhile, huh? I’m doin’ alright. I’m workin’ in the garage right now, but I was takin’ a break so you caught me at just the right time. How’s Oregon? Stayin’ weird enough for you?”

Hearing that warm drawl melted Ford’s worry away in an instant, “That’s an understatement. I’m still running across baffling things that I’d never have thought would exist! Every day it feels more like I’m living in some dimestore sci-fi fantasy novel, heheh! What about you?”

“Man, and I thought Tennessee was an oddball kinda place. I actually just went all in on working on my computers! Em ain’t too keen on it, but things are pickin’ up slowly but surely and I’m fixin’ folks’ radios and such on the side! Have you published anythin’ yet? By now you’ve gotta have more than enough for a stack of papers and then some.”

Ford huffed, “Well, yes, but no, not yet – I still want to compile everything first, and have it all together for-“

“Ford, dangit, that’s what you said years ago! What if you need more funding? Wonder you ain’t run that dry yet,” he chuckled, “Ah, well. Quality over quantity sounds like you.”

“Yeah, and well, that’s essentially the point. Hear me out, here. I think I had the right idea to wait, because I think I’m getting close to finding what ties everything here together. That’s actually what I was calling you about.”

“I’m all ears.”

“So, I think there’s an underlying reason all these odd things happen around Gravity Falls with such frequency when similar incidents seem so much more spread out elsewhere, for the most part. There’s even a point where all this, well, weirdness, seems to drop off pretty dramatically as you get further from the area… anyway, that point is another discussion.”

“That’s curious, and I suppose it stands to reason, but what could be behind it?”

Ford straightened the phone cord and set to winding it around his fingers again, “I’m actually thinking it might be tied to another dimension,”

Fiddleford fidgeted with one of his banjo picks, rolling it around between his fingers, mulling this over skeptically, “Now are you reachin’ for that conclusion or have you got some solid reasonin’ to back this up?”

Ford grit his teeth for a fleeting second, “I can’t narrow it down to anything else, so I’ve been… heh, this might sound nuts, but say there  _ is _ a greater multiverse out there, and we’re just a bubble or layer or what have you in it, maybe we could find a way to punch through to the source of all of this. If what I’ve worked out is correct, then whatever, I don’t know – film? – that doesn’t sound quite right. Maybe you’ll have a better term for it. Well,  _ whatever _ makes up the boundaries between dimensions is wea- er,  _ probably  _ weaker, thinner, or even eroded around Gravity Falls, allowing things to pass through more easily here. That’d make sense, right? So, with that in mind, I’ve been tinkering-“

“Hold on, I need to brace myself when you start a sentence with ‘I’ve been tinkering’.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, I’ve been tinkering and trying to design a portal that would allow more reliable travel between dimensions. I have a rough design worked out and I’ve gotten started collecting materials for it, but,” he huffed again, “Admittedly all this mechanical stuff isn’t exactly my area of expertise and even my understanding of physics falls short where I need it. I’ve been in something of a rut lately and-“

“Wait, hold your horses. Let me get this straight. You’re tryin’ t’build a transuniversal polydimensional metavortex?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Well, that’s mathematically feasible, I reckon!” Fiddleford spat out his dip and relaxed back into his chair, now thoroughly enthralled, “You got me. Keep talkin’!”

“Good, because I was going to ask you for your help.”

Fiddleford’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, “Me?!”

“Well, who else?”

“Shucks! That’s an honor, Stanferd. Well, keep talkin’, keep talkin’! Wait, wait, actually let me get some scratch paper,” There was a hurried rustling and clattering rumble of metal drawers, “Okay,  _ now  _ keep talkin’. Let’s see what we can work out, here.” Fiddleford cradled the phone between his shoulder and cheek, propping a notepad on his knee and swinging his free leg. He hurried to take down notes as Ford zealously chattered on, letting Fiddleford cut in with questions, corrections, and fresh insight. Fiddleford’s pencil flew across the paper as he scrawled out the myriad things he was already envisioning, and it left him gritting his teeth in frustration he couldn’t just show Ford  _ right now _ .

“Okay,” Ford half-panted, realizing he’d been talking so quickly he’d left himself breathless, “that was a lot! What do you think overall, though?”

“Sounds like a good start, at least,” Fiddleford uncrossed his leg, setting the pad on the table in front of him and tapping his pencil against his bottom lip, “Wish I could see what you have, though. That’d make this leagues easier, n’ I could make sure I’m on the same page, here.”

Ford felt his chest tighten with apprehension, drawing his fingers down the phone cord and winding it again to the point of nearly cutting off his circulation, “Fiddleford, that’s another thing I wanted to bring up to you. Look, I know you have your own life and I’m sure you have a lot going on, but if you could make it work,” he swallowed, “I’d really, really appreciate if you’d come up here to help make this a reality. I don’t know anyone else who could. At the risk of sounding really desperate…please?”

“You’re propositionin’ me to come up there to your little cabin in the woods in the middle of absolute nowhere to do some dubious, highly risky and hypothetical-at-best research and tinkerin’? For goodness knows how long?”

“That’s the long and short of it.”

Fiddleford took a breath, a soft grin settling on his face, “I don’t think anything could make me happier.”

“Yeah, I figured y-“ Ford finally registered Fiddleford’s words, “Wait, you’ll come?! But what…um, what about your work? Your wife? I mean, still, please, please, pleeease come! It should only take us a few months, we’ll work fast so you can get home and we can focus on writing, and you’ll come back to California having made history, I promise!”

Fiddleford laughed raucously, “Cross yer heart and hope to die? Ah, Stanferd Pines, what am I gonna do with you? Yeah. Well, I do need to talk to Emma-May first, of course, but this could be such an opportunity! Imagine our names on  _ that  _ paper, huh? Imagine what that could kickstart for us! I doubt I’d be havin’ any more trouble gettin’ my computer business off the ground after that. Even if we fail, we’re still pokin’ around at somethin’ brand new and nothin’ says we can’t just keep tryin’ and askin’ new questions, and that’s bound to get us somewhere! I do worry about leavin’ Emma-May all alone with Tate, though…”

Ford made a face, “Oh, right. How old is he now?”

“Heh, he’s five now. Cute little skeeter and smart as a whip already!”

“I’d expect nothing less from your kid.”

“Oh, hush. I mean, I know Em, she’ll probably be fine. She took up a job just a few weeks ago, and we got good neighbors, they look out for us and watch Tate a lot, but…” he chewed at his lip, trying to wrestle with the uncertainty pulling at him, “Heck, when is one of my favorite people gonna call me up to do somethin’ groundbreakingly reckless again? I’ll talk it over with Em and call tomorrow with an update. How does that sound?”

Ford exhaled, a giddy sparkle in his eyes, “Okay, that sounds good. Thank you so, so, so much! I’d hug you to death right now if I could!”

“What a way to go that’d be! I s’pose there’s worse deaths out there. Anyway, I hate to cut you off, but I’d better get goin’. Emma-May’s bound to have dinner ready any moment now and she’s all about punctuality. I’d rather not get reamed for skylarkin’ again.”

“Heheh, no worries, I understand completely. I’ll be looking forward to your call tomorrow morning, I’ll be sure to be in the house!”

“Oh, if you’re goin’ to be in the field, I can-“

“No, no, I’ll wait for your call first. It’s fine.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll call you soon as I can. It was real nice talkin’ to ya, Stanferd. I’m excited about this!”

“That’s an understatement! It was good talking to you, too. Have a good night.”

“You too, hu- _ heheh _ ! Talk to ya soon.”

Fiddleford drummed his hands on his knees as soon as he set the phone down, barely able to contain himself. He tried shaking the jitters out and composing himself as best he could before heading into the house.

Meanwhile, Ford didn’t care if it was just the isolation finally getting to him. This was well worth a goofy little jig around the room.

It felt like a fog was clearing.

“Emma-May!”

Emma-May jolted and turned from where she was pulling out forks, “Oh, hi, hun. Can you give me a hand settin’ the table quick?”

“’Course!” Fiddleford gladly took the forks from her and set to digging through the cupboards for plates.

Emma-May cocked her head as she watched him curiously, “You’re sure all smiles. Who called?”

“Stanferd!” Fiddleford chirped.

“Oh, your friend from college?”

He beamed and nodded, “The very same!”

“Yeah, you hadn’t heard from him in awhile, had you? How’s he doin’?”

“Great, great. He’s got a lot goin’ on up in Oregon, it seems.”

Emma-May hissed as the heat from the pan she was pulling out seeped through the hotpad all too quickly, hurrying to set it down, “Jesus Christ!”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just damn near burnt myself. Anyway, I’m glad to hear he’s well. He’s doin’, what, wildlife research or somethin’ out there, right?”

Fiddleford made a vague gesture, “Somethin’ like that, but more like he’s been dippin’ his toes in bit of everythin’. Town he’s in is real interesting, and at least he’s makin’ use of that double major. I’ll tell you more later. Hold on, I’ll go get Tate.”

“He fell asleep on the living room floor again, so be prepared for some crabbiness.”

“Heh, what’s new there?”

“I know, he takes after you a little too much sometimes!”

“Fiddleford, what on earth are you doin’?”

Fiddleford glanced up from where he was hovering over a suitcase he’d opened on the bed to find Emma-May leaning in the doorway, brow furrowed in an equal mix of concern and confusion as she surveyed the chaotic mess he’d wrought upon the room. He cracked a bashful smile.

“Oh, I was just gonna talk t’you about that, but I couldn’t help myself to start plannin’ n’ all while you were gettin’ Tate down. Thanks for that, by the way.”

This only left her more perplexed. She fussed with her bracelet, “Plannin’? For  _ what? _ ”

Fiddleford offered her an apologetic look, “I’m sorry. I was thinkin’ of bringin’ it up at dinner but figured this would be easier with Tate asleep. To give you the short of it, Stanferd asked me to come help him with his most recent research project for a bit, and I think it’d be a good move for me.”

Emma-May was skeptical, shifting her weight to her hip and crossing her arms, “Ain’t he chasin’ critters or whatever? How’s that got anythin’ to do with your line of work?”

“Like I said, he’s doin’ a bit of everythin’ right now. He said he’s got a need for some mechanical prowess, and I’ve been in enough of a rut lately. It might be good for me to get back out in the woods, see a new place, clear my head. I think bein’ in the city is finally startin’ to suffocate me some.”

“What about your work, though? You  _ just  _ went all in on this computer business and almost put us in the hole for your little investment! I, I just…” she tutted, pinching the bridge of her nose, “What are you thinkin’?!”

“As I was sayin’, a break might be good for my head. Besides, I’ll take some of my projects up to work on in my spare time, and maybe Stanferd could offer some input. I’m sure lookin’ at the other data he’s collected is bound to give me ideas for some statistical programs I could write, too, or somethin’ in that vein. That’s bound to have a broad market, right?” he hesitated, “You’d be okay here with Tate, right?”

Emma-May exhaled roughly, “Tryin’ to find someone to watch him while I’m workin’ ain’t gonna be fun. We can’t be puttin’ ourselves on the neighbors regularly like that…”

Fiddleford nodded pensively, “Yeah, you’re right about that, but we’ll figure that out together before I go. I promise. I don’t know, maybe I’ll sound like the worst excuse of a husband for sayin’ this, but maybe a little space would be good for us, too. We’ve been bickerin’ an awful lot lately, and that’s no good in my mind. You deserve better, and I’m sure Tate’s picked up on it even if we keep that whole mess away from him.”

Emma-May mulled this over with another tired sigh, running her hand through her thick coils of dark hair, “Yeah, I s’pose. We really have been seein’ too much of each other since you started doin’ so much work from home. Damn near ready to melt down all the spoons in this house from you bangin’ em on everythin’ and gettin’ Tate in the habit…” she trailed off into a mutter before looking back to him, “But how long are you gonna be up there?”

Fiddleford tried to ignore how much that stung as he rifled absentmindedly through a drawer, “Hm, well, sounds like it’s lookin’ like a few months’ worth of work before we’ll have writing to do. Say three, four? But knowin’ Stanferd n’ me, it could be less, and I can always take a break for a week or so to come back and see you if we need it.”

Emma-May shifted on her feet again and tutted, still thoroughly perplexed, “That ain’t cheap, either! This is all so sudden. You really couldn’t have just waited to talk to me first? You damn near gave me a heart attack when I came in to see you like this, I thought you were about to run off into the sunset or somethin’!”

“Well, you’ll be alright if I go, right?”

She bristled and only briefly met the pleading look in his eyes before casting her gaze to the floor, “I’d be fine, but…”

Fiddleford stepped over to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead, taking her hand to gingerly squeeze it, “Exactly. I’ll call as often as I can to talk to you and Tate, and I promise this ain’t some harebrained flight o’ fancy. With Stanferd n’ me on this, we’ll have tons of articles’ worth of material! Every big name journal will be filled with our names. It’ll set us up good, you know? For you and Tate. We’ll finally get that screen door replaced, and havin’ my name out there is bound to make gettin’ this computer stuff off the ground a lot easier. Then we won’t have to worry, and you can quit that job and be home with us again! Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Fiddleford, you think sweet, but you move too fast when somethin’ gets your heart goin’.” She let her hand slip from his and crossed her arms again, “Alright. I can tell it means a lot to you, and maybe it’ll finally be a little quieter around here…” she forced a laugh, “When are you actually thinkin’ of goin’?”

“Next couple days or so, probably.”

“What?!” Emma-May balked, “Fiddleford Hadron, what on  _ earth _ ?! Okay, I was patient with you gettin’ ahead of yourself and scarin’ me into thinkin’ you were runnin’ off into the sunset tonight, and now you tell me that’s precisely what you’re doin’?!”

Fiddleford dropped down to sit on the bed, bouncing his knee in agitation and wracking his mind fruitlessly for the right thing to say, but he couldn’t even reason out why he felt so hellbent on leaving so soon in the first place. It wasn’t like the portal was going anywhere without him, anyway, or so Ford seemed to staunchly believe, “Just… hun. Ugh, hang on, let’s take a minute.”

“Of course. You do this every time. Every time! I bring somethin’ up that’s hard to deal with, and you just walk off like we’ll discuss it later. And do we? No! Hardly ever!”

“Well, that’s cuz you got such a temper on you and we never end up makin’ any headway, anyway. If it ain’t a big issue and ain’t botherin’ us anymore, what’s the sense in gettin’ worked up over nothin’ again later?”

Emma-May shook her head, pressing her fingertips to her temples and muttering under her breath, “Sugar, that’s not the point.”

“I’m not sayin’  _ this  _ is a small thing… Nevermind it. This is exactly what I mean, Em.” Fiddleford huffed, one hand meshed tightly in his hair, leg back to hammering out a harsh beat on the floor.

“Quit that!” Emma-May snapped, “Yer shakin’ the damn floor worse’n an earthquake. Lord knows you’ll wake Tate up again and-“

“How many times do I gotta say I can’t help it?! It’s been like this forever!” he tightened his hand in his hair and pulled it taut, struggling to still his leg and cursing himself at the futility of it right now. Trying to stay still through all this snowballing stress made him want to crawl out of his skin. He snarled under his breath and finally slackened, “…what are we doin’, Em?”

She sighed, “I don’t even know. Maybe you’re right and bein’ separated for a bit would be good for us. Just…maybe don’t come out of nowhere with somethin’ this big and drastic? I shouldn’t have to say that.”

Fiddleford let his chin drop into his hand, “I know. I’m sorry. I got really excited and wasn’t thinkin’ straight. I didn’t mean to worry you or stress you out.” He glanced up to meet her eyes again, a rock-solid resolve in his gaze, “But I decided. I  _ am  _ goin’. Next week. How about that?”

Emma-May shoved a few shirts out of the way and sat next to him, trying to ignore the tension sitting like a slowly solidifying wall between them. For a moment, she wanted to break through it and fold her hand over his, but held back, keeping her hands in her lap, “That’d be far better, I guess. At least we’d have time to get all our ducks in a row.”

Fiddleford saw the hesitation in her movement and a strange feeling gripped him. He swallowed with effort, “I promise this will all be worth it. Stanferd’s a good man. He wouldn’t call on me over nothin’, and I wouldn’t run off like this over nothin’.”

“And I trust that, but you haven’t even told me what y’all are even workin’ on.”

Fiddleford seemed to fold in on himself even more, “It’s a long story. Pretty cutting edge ideas here.”

Emma-May raised an eyebrow, “Now you’re just actin’ strange. Since when have you not wanted to ramble on and on about any newfangled thing? Tell me about it! It’s not gonna leave this room if it’s really so important.”

“Em, you know how you blab the second you get to talkin’ with the neighbors…”

She sighed, forcing a tight grin of admission, “Okay, yes. Fine. I’ll give you that.”

“Anyway, I’d love to tell you everything, really, but Stanferd says he wants to keep this whole thing hush-hush until we have a publication ready to submit. If this all goes like we hope, though, oh gosh, it’s just gonna knock your socks off!”

Emma-May remained skeptical, “Alright, I guess I don’t have a choice but to believe you. Don’t want anyone swoopin’ in and takin’ your chance at bein’ a gloryhound?”

“Yeah, a little, heh,” Fiddleford gripped at his own arm sheepishly.

“Why’s he need you specifically again?”

“Well, that’s because I’ve got more background in engineering and all that than him. He needs me to help design and build a pretty snazzy contraption, to keep it short.”

“That’s…very specific, thank you.”

Fiddleford mumbled something under his breath at her dry sarcasm, “It’s kind of an astrophysics related thing. Apparently that weird town he’s in is good for that sort of thing.”

“This is only gettin’ more bizarre the more you keep talkin’.”

Fiddleford cracked a grin, glad when she faintly mirrored it, “There’s yer smile. Hey, it’s Stanferd Pines we’re talkin’ about here, and callin’ on  _ me _ . Do you expect anythin’ like that to be run of the mill?”

Emma-May shrugged, shaking her head, “Alright, you got me there. But for the record, I’m still pretty irritated with you for springin’ this on me. That was a tasteless move on your part Where’s your head at?”

“I’m not sure myself sometimes. Anyway, I might finish up a couple things and get on the radio a bit tonight since I’m probably not haulin’ all that with me, much as I’d like to. I don’t know how much Stanferd would appreciate me installin’ a huge yagi on his house…”

“Alright. Do what you will.” At that, Emma-May got up, smoothing out her skirt, “If it really means so much to you, do it. I’m gonna go work on my embroidery.”

There was an edge to her voice that cut through Fiddleford like a blade. He ran his hand through his bangs, sighed, and tried to clean up some of the chaos he’d left in his excitement. Sure, he was still giddy at Ford’s proposal, but it was impossible to deny Emma-May had a point, well, points, plural, no matter how well-intentioned he was. It was still better to save himself some stress and get all this planned now, he figured, and having more time was a better idea. Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d gotten this far ahead of himself so fast, well, barring taking a leap of faith into dedicating so much of his time and resources into a precarious computer business. He sorted a few more things into the suitcase and finally headed back out to the garage and settled in to fuss with his radio. He found an open frequency and tapped out a CQ on his straightkey.

Nothing.

He tried another frequency. Another. Another.

A quick inspection told him everything should be in working order. He tried to cut in and connect with someone else calling CQ, but someone seemed to beat him to it every time, and even when he was sure he got through next he was never acknowledged. He checked over everything again, coming up empty in his search for any problems.

It was all too much noise anyway, but calling CQ on empty frequencies still offered nothing. Even after fussing with the position of his antenna, adjusting the squelch, and several more minutes of miscellaneous troubleshooting and muttering under his breath, the only response he got came in so rough it was less than futile to try and copy. He’d never dealt with anything like it, and it left him feeling uneasy.

It had to be a hardware issue. It simply had to be.

There was no way Ford would admit to sitting by the phone first thing in the morning, scribbling and sorting notes in a desperate attempt to pass the time. After what felt like an eternity, it finally rang.

He had to play it cool.

He let it ring once, just for good measure, before picking up, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Fiddleford. I’m coming!”

Ford spluttered, tripping over his first few attempts to speak, “That’s…oh, this is great!”

“I was goin’ to head up tomorrow, but I realized I was really puttin’ a lot on Emma-May doin’ that. I’m thinkin’ I’ll head up on Monday, and dependin’ on how much ground I can cover and barring any emergencies, is it alright if you expect me Tuesday or Wednesday? I’ll find a way to get in touch if anything changes.”

Ford tensed, admittedly a little crestfallen, “You can’t come any sooner?”

Fiddleford laughed, “I’m sorry, Stanferd, but Emma-May and Tate need some warning, you know.”

“I know, I know, you’ve got a family to look after. I’m sure they’ll be fine, Emma-May was a capable person from what I remember.”

“She is, she really is, but I still can’t just drop everything even if I can’t wait to see you. I’ll be burnin’ rubber come Monday, alright?”

“Right. Tuesday or Wednesday, then?”

“If you’ll have me!”

“Well, of course!”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford arrives in Gravity Falls. Needless to say, the boys are pretty thrilled to see each other again and Ford is doing his best to show some proper hospitality.

The tension in the air was palpable, seeming to pull time itself taut. Ford drew a nervous breath and pulled the door open, all too aware of the sweat on his palms. He blinked once. Fiddleford blinked back. In an instant, broad grins exploded over their faces.

Ford threw his arms wide, “Fiddleford! It’s so wonderful to see you again! I’m glad you made it up safe. How was the drive?” He took a reluctant step aside.

“Yeah, it’s so good to see you, too. It wasn’t too bad, lots of pretty stuff to see on the way,” Fiddleford made a move forward and was about to keep talking, but Ford had already whisked around, coat sweeping around his knees as he babbled on excitedly at thrice his typical speed.

“Glad to hear it. Anyway, like I’ve told you, I’ve come across so many fascinating things around here. It’s going to absolutely blow your mind – I can’t wait to show you! Come, come. We’re on the edge of a breakthrough, here, Fiddleford, I just know it…and now that you’re actually here, well, heh, I think things are going to be getting a lot better very soon. Um. Anyway! I made up a room for you and everything, and I stocked the cupboards with those baked beans you like so much, and well, here, I’ll just show you. Come along!”

Fiddleford trailed behind him, looking around at all the bizarre things Ford had managed to cram into the house in bewildered curiosity, “Holy cow, Stanferd, you really weren’t exagerratin’. What even are half these things?”

Ford swung around again and stopped, Fiddleford nearly bumping into him with a tiny gasp, “Ah, there’s plenty time for that! It’s not much, but I hope it’s alright for you.” At that, he led him through to the room he’d prepared, “Again, sorry it’s nothing fancy, but I-“

“It’s more than enough.” Fiddleford assured, now hovering close at Ford’s side.

“Good, that’s a relief! Well, here, let me help you with the rest of your things and then I can show you around some more if you want. Then we can take a good look at what I’ve got for the portal design, and-“

Fiddleford followed Ford back out of the room as he blustered on, snickering softly to himself. Same old Ford. “Hey, hey, that sounds great, but hold your horses!”

Ford turned on his heel, a little less abruptly than the previous few times, “Huh? Oh-!” he jerked in surprise as Fiddleford pulled him into a tight hug, freezing as the gears in his head struggled and creaked to register the feeling. Slowly, with quivering hands, he brought his arms around Fiddleford’s slight form and pulled him in even tighter. He couldn’t help but grin at the little laugh it earned him from Fiddleford, who was now crushed almost possessively against him.

“I haven’t seen you in years and you think you can just get away without a hug?” Fiddleford grinned warmly.

Ford blinked, head resting in the crook of Fiddleford’s neck, and shifted his weight a bit before finally letting himself relax into the embrace, “Hm…yeah.”

It was rain after a drought.

It felt like home.

“Stanferd, um, you can let me go now.”

Ford jolted and released him, rubbing at the back of his neck with a sheepish grin as he realized (in immense mortification) he couldn’t even hazard a guess as to how long they’d stood like that, “Heheh, sorry. It’s just been awhile.”

“Naw, I missed you, too.” Fiddleford cracked a jaunty smile at him and clamped his hand on Ford’s upper arm. The slightest bit of surprise crossed Fiddleford’s face and his heart gave the faintest of flutters, “Wow. Seriously, I swear you’re somehow even more solid than last time I saw you.”

Ford chuckled, “Maybe I am. Getting out in the field so much probably does that… I’ve been doing pretty physical work since I moved out here.”

“I can tell! And here I’ve been gettin’ scrawnier by the day from sittin’ around so much..” Fiddleford really hoped his face wasn’t quite as red as it felt, “Guess I gotta get back to haulin’ feed bags around or somethin’, huh?”

Ford winked at him before carrying on back towards the door, “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll get you moving again.”

Fiddleford’s breath hitched and he cursed himself for letting his mind immediately plummet to the gutter, “Y-yeah, I’m sure you will. Anyway, you really don’t have to help me-“

“I insist, I insist,” Ford waved his hand dismissively, shouldering past Fiddleford to start gathering things out of his car, “I’ll bring your stuff over to your room for you. Sound alright?”

Fiddleford knew all too well this was a losing battle, “Yeah, that’d be great. Thank you. You really do have a lovely house here, by the way.”

Ford grinned proudly as he hefted a box and headed in, “Of course you brought half your damn record collection… And yes! The Corduroy family here in town are the ones who did most of the work. Like I was telling you, they’re good people, even if I don’t talk with them much. They even let me stay in their cabin one weekend! It was…extremely haunted, but to be fair they  _ did  _ warn me. Heheh!”

“Haunted?!” Fiddleford blanched, almost fumbling the suitcase he was lugging in.

Ford sat the box on the floor and straightened up, “Haunted. Very, very haunted.” He shuddered a bit at the memory, “Well, lesson learned! They aren’t something I’d like to tangle with again!”

“Wait, like, ghosts haunted?”

“What else?”

Fiddleford shook his head, heading back out to get the last of his things, “I don’t know?”

Ford shrugged, catching up to him easily, “Well, yes, ghosts. A lot of them. It was, hm, interesting. Not exactly pleasant, but it could have gone worse. I got out in one piece, after all. I’ll tell you about it later. I’m sure you’ll want to settle in a bit after driving so far…” he considered the time a moment, checking his watch once to confirm it was as early as he thought it was, “…you didn’t drive through the night, did you?”

Fiddleford scuffed his foot on the ground, hooking his thumbs in his pockets shyly, “Well…”

“Fiddleford Hadron!” Ford barked, “I am extremely flattered, but go on, get yourself settled. I have to make a run to town anyway. Do you need anything?”

He shook his head, “Nope, I think I’m all set. I got a couple things to get in order anyway.”

“Understood. Um, if you…if you need to let your wife know you made it safe, feel free to use my phone. Just don’t rack up a bill for me.”

“You know I’d cover it if I did! I’ll probably do that, though, she’ll want to know I didn’t get dragged off by bears or hit a moose. Thank you.”

“Right. Well, I’ll be back shortly. If you need food or anything, go for it, you know the drill.”

Ford sucked down a breath as he set off for town. The air felt more refreshing than normal. Something about seeing that man again was like injecting pure sunshine into his veins, and while he tried to wave it off as the years of near-isolation making him softer than normal, he felt electric. For now, he had a mission and hoped Fiddleford would find his efforts worthy, as if there were a way to properly repay him for sacrificing so much to come and help. Now was also a time to thank the stars Gravity Falls had the delightful characteristic of being a small town where one could find almost anything they needed.

“I’m back!”

Fiddleford looked up from his latest project, which he’d been craned over on his bed. A shot of nervousness rushed through him.

Hopefully Ford would find his efforts worthy, as if there were a way to properly repay him for choosing  _ him _ for the endeavor of a lifetime.

Ford appeared in the doorway now, a bright but nervous glint in his deep brown eyes, “Um, I, I got you something in town.”

“Huh?” Fiddleford adjusted his glasses, “Stanferd, you really-“

“No, I had to. Um, h-here. I wasn’t even entirely expecting to find all this, but I lucked out. This town’s interesting like that, despite being so small.” He produced a small bag from his coat and held it out, looking off to the side and stuffing his other hand into his pocket.

Fiddleford blinked and took it graciously, eyes widening as he dug into it, “Oh, gosh, Stanferd, you really didn’t have to…”

“I admittedly don’t know much of anything about microchips, or banjo strings for that matter, but I hope these are okay.”

Fiddleford looked them over warmly, “These are really nice strings, actually. You can seriously find stuff like this here?”

Ford nodded once, stiffly, and puffed up a bit, glad for this little success, “I got you some picks, too. I know you hardly ever misplace them, but sometimes it’s nice to have new things.”

Fiddleford dug into the bottom of the bag to fish them out, grin growing even bigger, “Heh, thank you so much! You really know how to put on a welcome!”

Ford made a face, shrugging halfheartedly, “I just wanted to make sure you knew I appreciated you coming all this way for me. Just maybe cut out the banjo after eight?”

“Same rule as always?” Fiddleford snickered, landing a playful jab into Ford’s shoulder, “I got you somethin’, too. Well, I made you somethin’. Remember when I was sayin’ how it would be neat to make a portable computer?”

“Yes, why?”

“I was just makin’ sure everythin’ was good to go while you were gone. I got one prototype I’ve been fiddlin’ with and since I was gonna see you again, I thought maybe you’d like one too.” At that, he nervously gestured to where he’d been fussing over a clunky laptop, “So this one’s just for you.”

Ford blinked, coming to sit next to Fiddleford to look the bizarre piece of tech over, “Oh… You did  _ this _ and think I went to any trouble on your behalf by comparison? I, um,” he hesitated, at a loss for words.

Fiddleford grinned broadly, “Don’t worry, I can show you how to use it later. I even added in extra keys for your extra fingers and tried to design it so it’d be easier for your hands!”

Ford’s face went hot and he chuffed nervously, “Heh, you really outdid yourself! Thank you.”

“I just hope you’ll find some use for it, heheh.”

“I mean, maybe? But that doesn’t mean I don’t like it! It still looks cool and this is some seriously impressive work!”

Fiddleford snorted in mock exasperation, “Well, don’t knock it till y’try it! I even made space for a washboard in mine, just for the heck of it! Anyway, you gonna show me all the neat stuff you got or what?”

Ford beamed excitedly, “Yes! Follow me! First let me show you one of the eyebats I taxidermied. Neat little creatures and pretty easy to come across if you know where to look!” he got to his feet again and led Fiddleford back out of the room where he immediately launched into a passionate ramble about every oddity and cryptid he’d encountered or procured. Fiddleford listened attentively, knee bouncing excitedly and eyes wide with wonder as Ford showed him things that were, indeed, about as mind bending as he’d claimed.

It was rain after a drought.

It felt like home.

Having had his worldview thoroughly flipped over, under, sideways, and down in the span of a few short hours, over lunch Fiddleford now leaned over the table, “So, how about what you’ve got so far for that portal design?”

Ford looked like he might just burst out of his skin with excitement, “I got all my notes together. I’ll show you shortly so you can at least take a cursory look… Mh, you’re probably tired from driving so much though, aren’t you?”

Fiddleford gave him an apologetic look, “Yeah, my head’s a little fried. Remind me not to drive overnight. I can’t handle that as well as I could back in the day, apparently.”

Ford chewed at his lip, admittedly a touch disgruntled and impatient, “Right. Well, it’s important we start in on this with clear minds,”  _ and goodness knows I hardly slept last night knowing you were coming,  _ “How about this. We’ll look them over this afternoon and get a rough plan set for tomorrow, but we can take it easy tonight and instead get cracking twice as hard right away in the morning.”

“That sounds like a plan to me. I can show you how to use that computer here in a bit, if you’d like.”

“I can’t argue with learning something new. Aaand I may or may not have thrown together a quick little Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons campaign just for you, if you’d be so inclined. I tried to keep it short, thinking you might be tired, but we  _ could  _ easily turn it into something longer…”

Fiddleford flashed him a winning smile, “I would be so inclined, what do you take me for?”

The afternoon seemed to race into the evening, which ground and slowed to drag into the night. The moon hung high overhead by now, and Ford was once again struggling to keep his eyes open, currently sprawled out on his couch with Fiddleford leaning against it, sitting on the floor and picking away at his banjo, the notes punctuated with his occasional disgruntled muttering.

“New song?” Ford murmured.

Fiddleford grunted an affirmative, “Yeah. I can’t get it quite right, though, not how I want it.”

“Hm. Don’t worry.”

“Easy for you to say,” Fiddleford snorted with feigned derision and carried on playing. A light smack sounded behind him.

Yep.

Ford fell asleep and dropped his book on his face again, startling himself awake to make a tragic attempt to relocate his spot with an annoyed huff and hurried flipping of pages.

Ford’s arm dropped again, smacking into Fiddleford’s shoulder this time as the book tumbled to the floor.

Fiddleford smiled to himself and kept playing. Some things never changed.

Fiddleford eventually succumbed to the exhaustion that had been trying to take him nearly the whole day. He woke up sometime in the night to the lamp in the corner still on and warm breath ruffling his hair. It took a moment for his mind to catch up enough to register where he was. He straightened up, grimacing at the kink that had knotted in his back, and almost sent his banjo tumbling out of his lap with the careless movement. He gasped sharply and caught it to set it aside gently, exhaling in relief and then craning his head to assess the rest of the situation. Ford had rolled over onto his stomach, one arm draped down over Fiddleford’s shoulder. Gingerly, Fiddleford pried his arm off, gritting his teeth when Ford almost stirred. He breathed a little thankful prayer for having successfully avoided waking him.

Fiddleford got to his feet and picked up his banjo to head over to his room.

“Love, where y’goinnn’?”

The slurred murmur was soft, barely more than a whisper. He froze, nervously glancing back over at Ford, “Huh?”

Ford grumbled something entirely unintelligible and buried his face into the crook of his arm.

Fiddleford forced a chuckle under his breath. He was still asleep, thank goodness. He was just babbling nonsense. All nonsense. He shook it off and quietly made his exit.

Being alone in a bed again after so many years felt odd and strangely hollow. He took a glance at the photo of Emma-May and Tate he’d brought with, running his fingers over the smooth frame. With a heavy sigh, he finally set it aside, something currently unidentifiable twisting a foreign knot in his gut.

He questioned what it meant to feel so caught between homesickness and feeling like he’d just gotten home after an impossible eternity away. He resigned himself to chalking it up to the exhaustion of driving so much and being awake for so long coupled with the usual weirdness of new situations and familiar faces and drew the blankets Ford left for him around himself. They didn’t smell of anything particular and felt new. At least they were soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I've had a lot going on as of late, including a major loss. That said, writing and editing have been a little more sporadic than normal (did I say I was writing this casually? I am, but it also has eaten my life). I also just wanted to take a second to thank everyone who has been reading this. I appreciate it more than I could ever properly express.


	16. Asleep on a Sunbeam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys' first full day together in Gravity Falls is off to a roaring start. Spirits are high, the possibilities feel endless, and Fiddleford has a few questions Ford would much rather address at a later time, or never.

Fiddleford was awakened with a jolt by Ford practically kicking in the door and bellowing at him, the first shreds of morning light that slanted across the room illuminating the already brilliant, ecstatic grin plastered on his face.

“Good morning, Fiddleford! Coffee’s on, are you ready for this?”

Fiddleford sat up and rubbed at his eyes as the initial panic passed and his heartbeat slowed to normal, “Ugh, hold on, hold on, I ain’t even got my glasses on yet…” he broke off into a yawn, “What time even is it?”

“5:30 AM.” Ford stated brightly, planting his hands on his hips.

“Bless your heart. I feel like I’m back home at the farm again.”

“But with 100% less pig manure!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fiddleford grunted, casting the blankets off his lap and groping around the nightstand for his glasses. He shoved them up on his nose as he stood and groggily set to procuring a shirt.

Ford carried on chattering, eyes aglitter with excitement, “Anyway, I was wondering if you’d like to come for a walk with me this morning. I can show you the woods around the house! Very beautiful. Also, I got the rest of my notes and design ideas for the portal organized for you to review, and I incorporated the little bit we discussed yesterday. Why don’t we chat about it before we come back, and then I could show you what I’ve got started in the basement?”

Fiddleford nodded sleepily, still in the process of mentally booting up as he tried straightening out his hair with his fingers before finding his comb, “M’kay, just, Ford-“

Ford faltered and grit his teeth, “Right, yes, coffee first, then talk. I know, I know, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Yeeep.”

Fiddleford had barely managed to shuffle his way into the kitchen before Ford was hovering in his face again to thrust a mug into his hands and set a plate at the table for him, “I got the expensive bacon for you. I’m sure it’s not as good as what you’re used to, since you were spoiled on the freshest possible and all, but I made a valiant attempt!”

“Eheh, thanks,” Fiddleford grumbled with a tired grin, surveying what Ford had put out before him as he slid into his chair, “However, you  _ are  _ forgettin’ once crucial element, here.”

Ford blinked owlishly and smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead, “Of course! I forgot to get you some tabasco. Well, no loss. What you do to eggs is a crime, and so disappointing from someone who can otherwise cook so well…”

“You’re just not enlightened to the joys of tabasco on eggs. Maybe you’ll come around someday.”

“There is absolutely no enlightening to experience in that regard.”

“Yes, there is!”

“No, there isn’t!”

“We’re not havin’ this argument again, Stanferd.” Fiddleford just barely managed to mask his playful smirk behind his coffee.

Ford made a show of rolling his eyes, arms akimbo, “Coming from a guy who doesn’t even know what a real bagel is.”

“Blah, blah, blah, and you don’t know smack about cornbread.”

“Why would I need to? You make good cornbread and that’s enough for me. Also, um-“ Ford shifted his weight and sheepishly twiddled his fingers.

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow, “…can I make some for you?”

Ford nodded curtly, looking for all the world like a most bashful child with a most polite request, “Yes, please.”

Fiddleford set down his fork and took a long sip of his coffee, stifling a laugh, “Well, o’course! How could I turn down them doe eyes of yours?”

“Ugh, you’re still on about that?”

He shrugged, “Emma-May and Thistlebert were right. You got eyelashes thicker’n a cow’s and you know how to use ‘em to look all sweet and get under my skin.”

“I’m not trying!” Ford huffed in (partially) feigned indignation, “Anyway,” he picked up a stack of papers from the counter and began flicking through it, double-checking everything was together before holding it out to Fiddleford, “Here’s everything I have written down so far regarding the portal. Do you mind giving it a good look and telling me what you think, especially about what I added this morning?”

Fiddleford nodded, currently dealing with a mouthful of eggs as he took the papers from Ford and began scanning them intently. Ford watched pensively, the anticipation enough to drive him mad as the minutes ticked agonizingly by. Fiddleford finally finished off his food and a new surge of focus seemed to take him as he shuffled to the next page and kicked back in his chair to drum on his legs and mutter and hush numbers and ideas under his breath. He leaned forward now and again to snatch up the old pencil Ford had left for him, grimacing that it wasn’t sharpened to a point each time before scrawling in the margins and finally learning back again to start up another round of rhythmic hamboning and hush-muttered math, followed inevitably by another bout of excited, almost frantic, scribbling – a pattern that settled into a steady sort of rhythm. Eventually, he picked up his plate in one hand to carry it to the sink and kept the stack of papers in his free hand to continue dissecting Ford’s notes. He set the plate in the sink and began pacing the length of the kitchen while flipping through each page for what had to be the third time so far.

Ford cleared his throat and made a hesitant venture, “So, um, what-“

“Let’s go for a walk, Stanferd.”

Ford didn’t need to be told twice, ready at the door in seconds. Fiddleford set the papers down on the counter, his brow furrowed and clearly lost in thought while he fetched a jacket and pulled his shoes on. Ford made a quick dash to sweep the stack of notes up almost as soon as Fiddleford set them down, though he wasn’t paying Ford much, if any, mind at the moment.

“Actually, one second, let me get these put away somewhere safe for now. You know. Just in case.” Ford hurried out of the room with a little flourish to Fiddleford, floorboards creaking underfoot. Fiddleford snapped out of his reverie for a second when Ford belted out a curse from the next room, having inevitably bumped into or tripped over something in his haste. He almost got up to investigate, but within a few seconds Ford reappeared, standing straight as he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, “Right then! Let’s go!”

As they stepped off the porch, Fiddleford launched into an enthusiastic, rambling onslaught, “I think this looks great to start with! You had a few equations that seemed…well, you could simplify a chunk of it. You’re always makin’ things too complex for yourself, heheh! Don’t quote me, though! I didn’t get a chance to do the final check I wanted on a couple pages, so what say we review again when we get back and our heads are clear? But, to start, what materials do y’have so far? Because I’m thinkin’ we skedaddle down to the hardware store when they open to…”

Ford nodded along eagerly, searching for a place to get a word in edgewise with little luck.

Fiddleford went on, “…well, and this is just speculation and all so I’d have to read up on it more to be certain, but maybe…”

“Yes, yes, and-“ Ford tried to cut in. No dice.

“…so, perhaps we could weld that doohickey to…”

Ford was straining to hold his tongue at this point and had started walking backwards almost in front of Fiddleford. Even as he struggled to find a place to speak, he had to admit he was thoroughly invested in watching the unbridled zeal and dappled morning light playing across Fiddleford’s face as he listened to him.

“Does all that sound good to you, Stanferd?” Fiddleford finally reined himself in, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how bad I was goin’ on and got ahead of myself there, heh. I’m just real jazzed about all this! I was skeptical at first, to tell you the truth, but this really just might work, we might really pull this off!” A sunbeam striking down between the trees caught Fiddleford just as he flashed Ford a prizewinning grin, his bright blue eyes absolutely ablaze in a way that made Ford’s heart skip.

“Yes, yes! Absolutely! I really think your idea for the multiphasic stabilizer is excellent, and yes, we are going to need some pretty beefy transformers… You’re right, we should consider fire barriers, but don’t worry about that, I’ve got an idea. Anyway…”

The conversation carried on at a clip, a new briskness in their steps and a fresh energy in their voices that both had dearly missed. It was rain after a drought.

It felt like home.

When they returned to the house, Ford could hardly contain himself. Wasting nary a second, he hustled to recover his notes and brusquely urged Fiddleford to follow him into the next room, stopping at a conspicuous metal door.

“Ah, so  _ that’s _ what this door is for!” Fiddleford remarked as Ford pulled the bulky thing open, making it screech and creak on its hinges in protest. As soon as he could slip through, Ford swept past to hurry down the rickety spiral staircase it revealed with Fiddleford close at his heel.

“Yep! I’m sure glad I told the Corduroys I might be needing some extra basement storage space, after all, and even better they didn’t ask any questions. It’s…not exactly finished in any way whatsoever, but it’s space and it works for now. I think.”

“Right… Say, what’s that other door?” Fiddleford glanced back up as they passed by the door in question, a slightly more ornate one made of nicely treated wood.

Ford hoped Fiddleford didn’t notice him tense, “J-just some more office and storage space. I don’t really have a lot in there yet, but I’m working on it. Just, come on.” He wondered when might be a good time to show that to Fiddleford, if at all. Perhaps never was a better option, and at a bare minimum Ford understood Fiddleford likely wouldn’t be very receptive if everything in that room was his introduction to even the mere concept of Bill. Ford wasn’t very keen to invite too many probing questions about all that right now, anyway. Maybe soon, hopefully soon, he could sort all that mess out, but right now what mattered most is that they were together, they would be happy, Bill would be happy, and things were finally feeling like they were falling into place. This newfound sense of rose-tinted hopefulness was more welcome than Ford anticipated, and there was no need to spoil such a pleasant situation – there was a time and place for all things.

“You know, I’m not terribly keen on climbin’ all those stairs again later.” Fiddleford’s grumbling cut into the rush of Ford’s thoughts.

“Oh, what has happened to my bold and enduring farm boy?” Ford lamented with as much theatrical flair as he could shoehorn into his voice and broke off into a playful snicker, “You’ll get used to it after enough times, not to worry!”

“That, or I could just cobble together an elevator or some such thingamajigger for you.”

“You’re overcomplicating things again!”

“Am not! I’m makin’ it so you don’t have to go scrabbling up and down those godawful stairs every day. Besides, wouldn’t it be easier to safely move parts and tools and all the other whosits and whatsits we’ll need up and down if we had an elevator?”

Ford snorted derisively, then softened as he considered this and relented, “Alright, do what you will. I won’t argue with free renovations.”

“Speakin’ of renovations, you’ll need ‘em down here, too.” Fiddleford noted as they took the last steps down into the basement, which was more of a rough-hewn artificial cave at the moment, “Alright. What have you got?”

Ford adjusted his grip on his flashlight and led him around the room, “Well, I started working on some wiring down here and that’s almost ready to go. Then we’ll have some proper lighting and we’ll be prepared to power at least some things for the portal. Do you think we could use a fridge down here? I do forget to bring snacks along when I’ve been working down here and it’s highly inconvenient to have to go back upstairs or go without. Anyway! I put in some shelving over here for now – the Corduroys were kind enough to leave me plenty of spare wood to do as I please with. I got all these sanded and finished and am almost done with this set of drawers over here, though they’ll need some adjusting. I figure we could keep some tools and odds and ends in those. Over where I put that line, I figure it might be good to put in a wall and construct a few smaller rooms for some of the controls as well as monitoring equipment, and then, as you can see, I have… well, a lot of assorted scrap metal and this generator! I know this won’t cut it, but it’s a start, and I’m sure we’ll find a use for this little thing, heheh!”

Fiddleford looked the generator over and made a show of tutting to himself, “This won’t cut a damn thing. Maybe powering a fridge,  _ if  _ you’re lucky, eheheh! Not bad to have, though, but I am still worried about how we’ll be powerin’ this thing. I reckon we’ll need something, er, quite robust to get us through spacetime itself.”

“I know, and I’m still working on figuring out the best way to go about that, too. The prospect of the electrical bills we’re bound to be racking up isn’t comforting in the slightest as is. Oh, well, when we’re published, I’m sure that issue will take care of itself!”

Fiddleford nodded once, wordlessly holding his hand out and taking the stack of notes from Ford, then plopped on the floor to scan through them yet again, “Yeah, you’d think. Let me take another gander at all this, here. Seein’ what you got down here is helpin’ a lot. Do you have a pen and some scratch paper?”

Ford fished around in his pockets, quickly producing the requested items. He dropped down to sit next to Fiddleford and handed them over cheerfully, “Always!”

“Perfect! Thank you. I’m glad I can always count on you for somethin’ to write on.”

“I’m surprised you  _ still  _ haven’t developed the habit. It’s useful to have, though I suppose I should be envious of your not needing to write much down. I don’t know how you do it, but a photographic memory sounds useful.”

Fiddleford chuckled, tapping the pen against his chin thoughtfully, “Yeah, I am pretty grateful for that, though I’m sure it’s a double-edged sword more than purely a blessing. Anyway, hush up, I need to focus for a sec.”

“Roger!”

Fiddleford grunted an acknowledgement and got to looking the notes over even more intensely than before, copying down a few things onto his scratch paper and scribbling a handful of calculations and corrections with them. Ford observed nervously, wincing at each mistake he saw Fiddleford had caught, even though they were few. Fiddleford tapped out a rhythm on his legs, mulling something over after another glance at the notes from the previous day’s conversation before passing one of his sheets over to Ford for him to review, “So, Ford, I got somethin’ I’ve been fixin’ to ask your opinion on.”

Ford blanched and fussed with the cuffs of his sweater sleeves, “What is it?”

Fiddleford rapped his fingers across his knee, shaking his leg gently as he redrew something from Ford’s notes onto a fresh sheet of scratch paper, “What do you think of this whole leg warmer business?”

Ford slackened in puzzled relief, “Huh? Those ugly things?”

Fiddleford’s attention didn’t waver from the paper, “Ugly?! Seriously?”

“What, you  _ like  _ them or something?”

Fiddleford shrugged and ran a hand through his hair before checking through his most recent round of calculations for the fifth time now, “Well, yeah! They look fun. I like the bright colors. I honestly figured you’d like them, what with your affinity for all things cozy.”

“Cozy or not, they look ridiculous! Oh, well, your fashion sense has always been tacky at best and trashy at worst.”

“You watch your tongue, Pines.”

“Can’t deal with a hike, can’t deal with my stairs, and now you’re into  _ leg warmers _ ? What has California done to you?”

“It got you a free prototype portable computer, you dingbat!”

“Bah!” Ford swiped his hand through the air dismissively and failed to quell a laugh. Fiddleford was even less successful in the same endeavor and quickly buckled over, quivering with amusement.

“Hey, you don’t have to be so rude, man!’ Fiddleford smacked him on the back jovially, but quickly averted his eyes. That was odd. Looking at Ford laughing like that was strangely difficult, making an odd feeling rush just beneath the surface of what he’d care to confess to himself. What was worthy of consideration was why hearing that familiar sort of laugh made him feel a touch of relief. Admittedly, something had seemed a little off about Ford since he’d arrived, though he couldn’t place it with any degree of certainty. The best way he could think to describe it was that he came off as somehow the slightest pinch more tense, overfocused and scatterbrained at once, and just a touch more crass than usual. Fiddleford reasoned he was quite possibly, hopefully, probably worrying too much. They hadn’t seen each other in a number of years as it stood, and by the sounds of it Ford had been largely alone for most of that time. Of course he’d seem a little different and a touch off kilter, taking all of that into account.

Forcing himself to be satisfied with that conclusion for the time being, Fiddleford returned his attention to the notes, only for that uneasy questioning feeling to come crashing to the forefront of his mind. Since when was Ford into this sort of math? Since when did he start drawing such sophisticated schematics? Something about it, from the way he wrote to what he had written didn’t seem to carry as purely a…  _ Fordish _ a tone as he remembered. Perhaps his writing style had changed a little over the years, and who knew what courses he’d taken during graduate school – no doubt far more than were required of him. There were logical explanations for all of this, and yet Fiddleford couldn’t shake feeling a little perplexed. However, really letting himself consider it, this entire portal idea really felt like it had come out of left field, even for Ford. He wondered whether a conversation with another researcher had inspired this concept, and given that was the likely case, he questioned why they weren’t here helping, or bare minimum, why Ford hadn’t even mentioned them. It wasn’t that Ford wasn’t capable of thinking outside the box or that he wasn’t susceptible to the allure of grand dreams and flights of fancy from time to time, but Fiddleford still could not quell the growing, nagging sense that something about this entire situation was a bit odd, even for Ford.

Ford had scooted closer again and was practically breathing down Fiddleford’s neck. He pulled a face as he noted all the places Fiddleford had rewritten things and made corrections to embarrassingly minor errors, “What are you thinking so far?”

Fiddleford gingerly shoved Ford aside, “Well, quit wheezin’ on my ear, first. I still think this is impressive. Absurdly impressive, actually, and you were right, this should be just about the perfect space for it. When did you learn to draw schematics like that? They’re amazing!”

Ford shrugged, palms getting hot, “I just read some books and looked at other examples and figured it out from there.”

Fiddleford raised a skeptical eyebrow, “Huh… Okay. Well, you always have been a sponge.”

“Aheheh, I suppose so!”

“Same Ford as I remember, then. Heh. Out of curiosity, do you, um, do you have any other collaborators? This is a lot of unbelievably complex work for one person to have managed alone all in the span of…what, the few months, right?”

Ford felt his stomach drop like an anchor. He wracked his brain for the appropriate response, running back to questioning whether now was the time to spill the metaphorical beans about Bill and the fantastical truth of their otherworldly collaborator in this undertaking. He almost opened his mouth, but clamped it shut again and decided it was a terrible idea. Fiddleford, for all his imagination and open-mindedness, was bound to take this one of two ways right now: either he’d be too down to earth to believe it and accuse Ford of insanity, or let his superstitious prattle get in the way and lead him to panicked assumptions Ford was involved in dangerous curses and black magic. In both scenarios, Ford was sure he’d find himself getting chewed out, followed by Fiddleford calling the whole thing a wash and probably packing his bags. He’d do anything to avoid that, and not just because he was in desperate need of assistance, but because losing Fiddleford’s company as soon as he got it back sounded like a veritably hellish experience.

Fiddleford was expectantly waiting on an answer. Ford hoped against hope he’d only left him hanging for a few seconds and awkwardly cleared his throat, scratched at the back of his head, and got up to fetch a well worn notebook sitting on the unfinished set of drawers, “Oh, well, you know, I was just digging through a lot of similar topics when I got the idea. I’ve considered a whole glut of other possibilities for why Gravity Falls is such a weirdness magnet, but I’ll get to those later and explain why I don’t think they suffice. I’ve been dedicating nearly all my time to this question for years now, and as they say, with hard work anything is possible! Heheh!” he held the notebook out to Fiddleford, “Say, um, when you’re finished up with that, could you also check my math in here? This is all half formed ideas that haven’t really gone anywhere yet, but it might come in handy.”

Fiddleford made a face, but seemed to accept his response and took the notebook, excited for more math to comb through, “Yeah, of course. Just tell me more about what you’ve got written in here so I have some context.”

Ford was more than happy to jump in and keep him distracted, “Yes! Here I was thinking…”

Crisis averted.

Hopefully forever.


	17. Asleep on a Sunbeam pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lads need a hyperdrive and Ford knows just where to find one - and so, an eventful trek to Crash Site Omega begins ft. kerosene lamp mishaps, some fascinating discoveries, and a nostalgic night.   
> Something about being on the verge of a great discovery, looking out into the vastness of space, and feeling equally crushed and exhilarated by the weight of the stars might just be enough to dull some inhibitions and spur some admissions, too...

“I swear, this place just gets stranger and stranger by the second,” Fiddleford remarked as he followed Ford along the lakeshore. 

Ford flashed a bright grin over his shoulder, “It really does! That was the first plaidypus I’ve personally seen. After hearing all the local legends for so long, I was starting to think it was just a story. Lo and behold, like most things around here, it’s real!” 

“I still can hardly get my head around it. Anyway, you’ll have to run a trap line up here sometime, maybe get one of ‘em to get a better look. They seemed pretty tame, kinda cute, even.” 

Ford shrugged, “I almost wonder if I could just run one down and snatch it. That one that was after your sandwich darted off pretty fast, though. I guess I could consider it an excuse to fix those busted up cage traps I put in the attic…” 

“I can give you a hand with that when we get back, if you want,” 

“That’d be great! Who knows what else we might catch up here? Alright, are you ready for something really amazing?” 

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow, jogging a bit to catch up to Ford as he got closer to the waterfall, “Oh, boy. What is it now?” 

“I told you I know a particularly interesting way up the mountain, didn’t I?” 

“Uh-huh-” 

“There’s a cave and tunnel system right behind the waterfall! Come on!” 

“I didn’t plan for spelunking today, but are you serious?” Fiddleford gawked up at the immense waterfall, trying to figure out how on earth they were supposed to get behind it without being smacked off the rocks by countless tons of rushing water. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve gone through here countless and explored all over this system, so we’ll be fine. Just be careful on the rocks, they’re rather loose in a couple spots and a little slippery in others, but you can grab onto these shrubs to scoot by. That, or, technically, you could just go right through the waterfall, though I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

Fiddleford nodded, adjusting his bag on his shoulders and carefully following Ford behind the waterfall. He hazarded one glance over at it as he sidled along and felt his blood rush at the dizzying sight. Once in the cave, he looked back at the water coursing down like a thick curtain, eyes wide in wonder, “Now that’s somethin’. Would I be incorrect in assumin’ this was a source of inspiration for our latest Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons campaign?” 

Ford scratched at the back of his head, “Heheh, nobody said you can’t draw on real life experiences, especially when they’re stranger than fiction. Now, it only gets more interesting!” he chattered excitedly, lighting up a kerosene lantern he produced from his bag, “There’s all sorts of old paintings and writing on the walls in some parts of these caves. It looks like people took shelter back here during some sort of emergency in the past, I just can’t figure out what they were hiding from. Some parts are too faded to really tell what’s being depicted.” 

Fiddleford blinked, “Interestin’ as that is, I don’t know whether that makes me feel more nervous or more secure bein’ back here.” 

Ford shrugged, throwing his arms up in a vague gesture as if to say  _ Make of it what you will.  _

A few hours in, the two found themselves bathed in inky darkness. Ford swore under his breath. 

“Ford, what happened?” 

“Damn lantern went out.” he heaved a sigh, “And I forgot to bring matches,” 

“How about flashlights? I thought you had a couple set out on the table before we left.” 

Ford hesitated, embarrassed, “About that… I may or may not have made an ill-informed executive decision to leave them behind.” 

“What?! Why?” 

“Well, the kerosene lantern by itself just, you know, it really adds that adventurous kick, doesn’t it? It feels more like we’re bold pioneers on a daring quest!” 

“Stanferd…” Fiddleford was unsure whether to laugh or grit his teeth in annoyance, “What am I gonna do with you?” 

“Hopefully not kill me.” 

“You’re testin’ my patience, I’ll tell you that! Anyway, let’s figure this out. Do you have any idea where we are?” 

“Um. Yes. But, I can’t really see, so... I don’t know if I’d be leading us in the right direction. I’m not even really sure where I’m facing right now.” 

“Fantastic! We’re screwed!” 

“Well, did  _ you  _ bring any matches or flashlights?” 

“No, I thought you had ‘em!” 

“Why wouldn’t you grab some, too? I thought you were the prepared one!” 

“You’re the one who knows this place, I figured you had it under control for once in your li- Wait,” Fiddleford dropped his voice to just above a whisper, fumbling in the dark to take hold of Ford’s arm, “Do you see that?” 

“What?” 

“Look.” he jerked him to indicate the direction, “Somethin’s watchin’ us. Be quiet.” 

Ford found what Fiddleford was pointing out - two little silver-blue specks glowing in the shadows, “Oh. Yes, I see them.” 

“Any idea what those eyes belong to?” Fiddleford hoped the desperation in his voice wasn’t obvious. He bounced his knee, then forced himself to stop, not wanting to rile whatever had its gaze fixed on them. 

“Hmm… No, actually. I’ve never run into anything else alive down here.”

“You are doin’ quite the opposite of reassurin’ me right now!”

“Just hold tight.”

Several more pairs of eyes lit up in the darkness. Fiddleford gasped, taking a cautious step backwards as a series of high-pitched chirps and low hums started up from the assortment of glinting blue dots. He could just make out what seemed to be crystalline shapes shifting around above the sets of eyes, and soon those prisms began glowing softly in the same silvery blue hue. One of the unknown creatures scuttled closer. Ford grinned at this and shook Fiddleford’s grip off his arm to wander closer, hushing a  _ pshpshpsh  _ to it. Fiddleford watched apprehensively, bracing himself to jump in and fend off the little beast should it get aggressive. He held his breath as Ford knelt down, still murmuring softly to the little creature, reached out, and picked it up.

“ _ Stanferd! What are you doin’?!” _

The creature, a strange rocklike ball studded in prisms, seemed perfectly mellow in Ford’s hands as he turned it over, inspecting its stony gray form and the little crystals that appeared to be its teeth. It chirped out a little birdlike tune in a soft tone, and soon the others in the group began to slowly close in, each seeming to monitor the others’ reactions. A few of the more timid individuals darted back into the shadows with rapid, glasslike steps that echoed around the cave before braving a few more curious steps forward.

Ford was thoroughly entranced by now, “Fidds, look! They’re friendly!”

Fiddleford finally stepped closer and knelt down to get a closer look at one that approached and soon tentatively nibbled at his outstretched hand, “Thank goodness. Well, ain’t you a curious little thing? They’re like bioluminescent geodes or somethin’. How is this even possible? Rocks ain’t alive, last I checked.”

“Hell if I know, but I like them!”

“They’re growin’ on me. Little…little, uh, geodites. Yeah. Howzzat sound?”

“Geodites. I like it! How about you, little one?” Ford crooned, scratching at the one he had cradled in his arms before gently setting it down. It trilled a high note before scampering off to rejoin the rest of the group, “I have an idea. Since they glow just enough to let us see a little, maybe we could herd them through the caves and use their light to navigate?”

Fiddleford rubbed at his chin as he mulled this over, then grabbed two of them and sauntered over to the lantern, “Perhaps, but…” without warning, he smacked them together hard with a resounding, stony crack and a spark. Pleased with this, he repeated the motion closer to the lantern this time, successfully restarting it, “Aha! Would you look at that?” He set the two geodites, who were now struggling in his arms, back down and watched them go skittering back into the shadows with the rest, all of them beeping urgently to one another as they retreated from the fire. 

Ford yelped, trying to gently let another down that he’d gathered into his arms. He sucked at his finger where the geodite had bit down and hissed through his teeth, “Ow! They really have a bite on them, apparently. And nice work! I didn’t even consider that!”

“You’re welcome! Is your finger okay?”

“Yeah,” Ford shook his hand out with a wince, “It just drew a little blood. It seems they really dislike fire.”

“It seems so. That’s interestin’.”

“Well, let’s get going, then, before the lantern dies again. Maybe we could set some traps up in here, too? Those little guys are fascinating! Living, glowing rocks! How magnificent is that? I need to get a better look at them soon!”

Fiddleford agreed, handing the lantern back to Ford and letting him lead the way through the caves again.

Ford forged on ahead even more briskly now, thoroughly invigorated by their discovery, “A whole new species… And so bizarre! If they’re averse to fire or even light in general, I’m betting I just hadn’t seen them before since I always had a lantern on the other times I’ve been here. I wonder why they dislike it? Does it hurt their eyes?”

“Nothin’ says we can’t come back and try to figure that out.” Fiddleford offered, “I’d be curious to. Anyway, how much longer are we goin’? My legs are startin’ to burn like crazy again.”

Ford tutted, “To think that when we first met, you were the one with all the strength and endurance. Don’t worry, it’s not much further until we’re through, and this should take us out right near the top of the mountain. We can camp there for the night, and then we’ll have nearly all day tomorrow to look for the hyperdrive and get home.”

“You’ve been marchin’ all over creation the past five-odd years, I’ve been doin’ a lot more sittin’! I still think robot legs are a fine solution. I could out-hike you any day, then.”

“I’m still calling that cheating.”

“I’m callin’ it innovation!”

“Suit yourself, I’d rather be able to rely on my own legs while I have them!”

  
  


As the moon climbed through the sky, bathing the forest in its soft silver glow, Ford and Fiddleford finished making camp for the night and lay sprawled out next to each other. They occasionally hooked their fingers together as they admired the glittering blanket of stars that hung above them and chatted excitedly about the day, reminisced on old memories, and let the conversation drift to the future. 

Fiddleford stretched out his legs in the grass and took a deep breath, savoring the night air, “Yeah, well, when I get back to California, I’m thinkin’ I’d like to really dedicate myself to my own projects. If I could finally get all this off and the ground and be an independent inventor, makin’ what I want, hopefully helpin’ some folks through it, and bring in enough money to get a nicer place with a good screen door, I reckon I’d be happy as a clam.” 

Ford grinned, hope and a subtle twinge of yearning playing across his features, “I understand. I’ve a similar wish these days.”

“What’s that?” Fiddleford inquired, adjusting his hands behind his head, “Same as back in college?” 

Ford shook his head and launched in haughtily, “Even better. Once I get this unified theory sorted out and we publish, I’m sure it will kick off a whole new era for science as we know it. I’ll go back home to New Jersey for awhile, at least. Hah! I can just picture the look on that Crampelter’s face… My parents will finally have a real reason to be proud of me. I’ll be able to return a hero, I’ll be able to really say I’m worth something, that I spearheaded something brand new and cutting edge and that  _ I  _ changed humanity’s very understanding of reality! I’ll be in interviews and talk shows, I can debate Reagan and put other smarmy politicians in their place, I’ll be at snazzy conferences with the greats hashing ideas over fancy wine… heheh! And the best? If I could only see the look on the dean of West Coast Tech’s face. They’ll be begging me to join their faculty by then, and I could turn them down just to make it sting!” 

Fiddleford sat up and blinked owlishly, a bit taken aback, “Really? Since when were you this much of a glory hound?” 

Ford shrugged and shifted in the grass to get more comfortable, “Maybe when I realized the people kicking me around for so long were never worth shit.” 

“Well, sure, but…” Fiddleford hesitated, “Don’t you think it’d be nice to just have a calm life? You’ve already accomplished so much in your time here, you’ve accumulated more than enough for goodness knows how many publications at this point, and it ain’t like publishin’ the work you have bars you from bein’ the one to discover the unified theory of weirdness, if this all works out. Don’t you ever think about just settlin’ down, meetin’ someone, maybe startin’ a family or somethin’?” 

Ford snorted derisively, “As I’ve discovered, none of that makes any sense to me. Besides, if I don’t stay focused, someone else is bound to swoop in and be the first author on a publication about the unified theory, and that’s  _ if  _ they’d even have the decency to credit me, which I doubt.” 

“And what of it?” 

Ford sat up now, too, fixing Fiddleford in an intense gaze, “I don’t want anyone else’s names on that paper except mine and yours. Everyone else can shove it.” 

Fiddleford felt his heart jump, “S-still, we could take all this easier. You’ve been stressin’ yourself out worse than in college, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. Even I can see that. You’ve been workin’ yourself down to the bone and then some. I’m worried you might burn yourself out.” 

Ford cracked a lopsided grin, “Well, I never was one to take the easy path.” A blush colored his face and he found himself almost absentmindedly sliding his hand over Fiddleford’s, cautiously meeting his eyes again, “It’s nice to not be on this journey alone anymore, though.” 

The feeling of Ford’s hand on his, the soft admiration in his coffeestain eyes, and the absolute conviction in his voice sent a rush prickling up Fiddleford’s spine and stirred his heart to racing. Ford continued. 

“I missed you so much, Fiddleford. I couldn’t do this without you.” 

“I missed you, too.” 

The last of the rigid determination on Ford’s face gave way to affectionate reverence, “You really saved our hides earlier. We even found a new species, perhaps an entirely new classification of life! I’ve just… It’s been a lot better with you here. Whatever wonderful things we’re both doing down the line, right now, at this very moment, I don’t think I’d want to be anywhere but up here looking at the stars with you again and dreaming big, like old times.” 

Fiddleford’s mind blurred. He wasn’t sure what happened, but before he knew it he somehow was kissing Ford like it was the first time all over again, falling into his arms in the moonlight on a mountaintop and feeling completely electrified. For now, two curious souls were content to drop into the vast maw of the unknown together. 

Fiddleford pulled away with a gentle grin and a breathless, quivering whisper that felt like a dam breaking, “I’m still in love with you, you know.” 

Ford brushed his hand over Fiddleford’s cheek and pressed their foreheads together, “Me, too.” 

All the pressure of the past few weeks crumbled as their lips met again. For now, this moment was more than enough – just gargantuan dreams that felt deliciously within reach, silver moonlight, a sky full of stars, a soaring mountaintop, grins too big to contain and soft laughs and soft grass and the too familiar taste of a kiss that felt like home and made a warm summer night feel sweltering. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I'm still not over Journal 3 and never will be, especially the entire godforsaken trip to Crash Site Omega... so here's part of my love letter to that, essentially? 
> 
> Also, file under "images taken right before complete disaster".


	18. I Think I See (An Altered Beast)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hide-behind: evaded  
> Hyperdrive: secured   
> Hopes: high 
> 
> ...well, that is, until an encounter with a strange beast goes awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And like that we've reached the gremloblin incident!   
> Tw for emetophobia and stuff, just as a head's up. 
> 
> Chapter title this time shamelessly taken from King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard's "Altered Beast I" which really fits this whole fiasco well in my opinion.

“-woah, hold on, hold on,” Ford stopped abruptly mid-sentence and threw his arm out, stalling Fiddleford before he whipped out his pen and hurried to dig through his bag for the journal and open it to a blank page. 

Fiddleford looked up with incredulity at the hulking, dark beast curled up on the path not far ahead of them, “What the  _ hell  _ is that thing?” he whispered tensely, gripping Ford’s arm, “It’s huge!” 

Ford didn’t even look back, already too focused on sketching, “A gremloblin. They’re incredibly rare, but I’ve caught glimpses of them a couple times and heard plenty of local legends about them. Highly dangerous, or so I hear!” 

Those words and the few steps Ford was taking closer to the creature were doing little to abate Fiddleford’s growing concern. He tried to gently tug Ford backwards by his coat sleeve, “Stanferd! I really don’t think this is a good idea. If it’s so dangerous, we should be givin’ this thing a wide berth and gettin’ a move on. You weren’t takin’ your chances with the hide-behind this mornin’!” 

Ford only casually shrugged him off, “You’re still just riled about that pterosaur skeleton back there. When am I going to get another opportunity to see one so close? Just a moment, okay?” 

“ _ Stanferd Filbrick Pines. _ ” 

“Yes, yes…anyway, they’re very heavy sleepers. I could punch this thing and not wake it.” 

Fiddleford drifted a few steps away to get a tree between himself and the formidable looking creature, digging his fingers into the rough bark as he watched Ford apprehensively, “If you’ve seen one asleep before, why didn’t you draw it and get all your notes then?!” 

Ford was no longer responsive and only offered the vaguest of noncommittal grunts in reply as he scanned over the beast, muttering to himself while trying to quickly sketch the fungi sprouting from its back and jot down important notes, “Wow…what a beautiful, well, uhm… maybe not the right term. Woah! Look at those quills!” he waved a hand to beckon Fiddleford over, “Fiddleford, come here and look at this. It’s incredible!” 

Fiddleford instead sidestepped to shield himself more thoroughly behind the tree, “You’re nuts! Look at the maw on that thing!” 

“Oh, yeah, it could easily take a chunk out of me with those teeth! Neat, huh?” 

“Not neat! Didn’t you ever learn to keep your distance and give a little respect to dangerous, I don’t know, would you even consider this wildlife?!” 

“Uh-huh, hold on, just a second, I’m almost do-“ 

A raucous, high pitched alarm shrieking from Fiddleford’s bag interrupted Ford. Fiddleford went white as a sheet, dropped the bag off his shoulders, and started smacking at it frantically in desperate hopes a little percussive maintenance would do something to stop the earsplitting noise, “ _ Stanferd- _ “ 

Ford turned, a little startled himself, “Huh? Oh, that’s odd. I didn’t know the hyperdrive would do that. Well, just shut it off. Like I said, these things don’t wake up for any…oh,  _ fuck _ !” 

He froze. The gremloblin stirred, letting out a ragged, guttural breath as its bright yellow eyes flickered open and it trained its gaze intently on Fiddleford. 

“Fidds, get down!” 

Too late. It had already lunged forward, barreled past Ford, and wrapped its fearsome claws around Fiddleford, pointedly locking eyes with him as it drew him closer to its face. Fiddleford barely noticed the claws digging through his clothes to pierce his skin, reduced to little more than transfixed, quivering prey in its grasp. Without time to think, Ford frantically snatched up the nearest object he could find – his metal canteen – and lobbed it as hard as he could at the gremloblin’s face with a shout. The cap snapped off the canteen on impact, sending water spraying over its dark, shaggy pelt. It glanced briefly in Ford’s direction. 

_ Good!  _

Before Ford could register what was happening, the gremloblin morphed into something ten times more terrifying and now unfurled enormous, batlike wings as dark as the night sky. With a strained snarl, it took to the sky with Fiddleford still in its clutch, snapping twigs and branches and shaking down a rain of pinecones as it exploded up through the trees and above the forest canopy. 

Ford hissed under his breath.  _ Not good!  _

Heart hammering hard enough that it felt as if it’d burst from his chest, Ford crashed through branches and stumbled over mossy rocks in hot pursuit, struggling to keep his bag slung over his shoulder. Every time he lost sight of it through the trees for even a shred of a moment, a new surge of fear shot through him, and matters were only made worse by the fact a quick glance ahead informed him the earth seemed to stop abruptly not far ahead.  _ Fucking fantastic.  _ He snarled inwardly, cursing himself and pushing the gears in his head to spin doubletime to figure out a plan - and fast. Fiddleford’s panicked scream tearing through the air only tossed gasoline on the already raging panic fire Ford was struggling to think through, and the rapidly approaching cliff was becoming an increasingly pressing issue. 

“Ah, one sec, Fiddleford! I’m coming!” It didn’t matter if Fiddleford could hear him, and Ford knew it was unlikely he could. He charged on forward, noticing Fiddleford was still clutching tight to his backpack. It was a risk, but no other option existed but to pull his magnet gun from the holster at his thigh, take aim at the backpack containing the hyperdrive, and hope against all hope as he screwed his eyes shut, pulled the trigger, and launched himself of the cliff with his heart pounding and blood rushing thunderously in his ears. There was a stomach-churning lurch downward as gravity wrenched Ford down, but as quick as it took him, he found himself yanked roughly upwards towards the gremloblin as it soared off over the valley. The gremloblin screeched at the added weight as Ford collided and dug his hands into the coarse fur on its neck, the beast losing the rhythm in its wings and almost sending its unwelcome rider careening off its back as it jolted and twisted in flight. Ford shut off the gun, raised it above his head, and threw all of his weight into a well-aimed strike to the base of its skull, narrowly evading ramming his hands into the sparser but undoubtedly fearsome quills hidden in its long neck fur. The blow knocked it unconscious, Ford just barely managing to snatch Fiddleford by the wrist and pull him in close when the gremloblin’s grip on him slackened and all three parties were sent plummeting rapidly towards a farmyard below. Ford locked his legs tightly around its neck, holding Fiddleford fast to shield him with his body and screwed his eyes shut as they crashed through the worn roof of an old barn and rolled unceremoniously into the hayloft. Blinking in the settling dust, Ford scuttled over to the jagged hole in the hayloft floor and glanced down to see the gremloblin sprawled out, still unconscious, and crowded by a gaggle of curious, albeit baffled, horses.

Ford let out a sigh of relief and slumped back against a pile of hay as he caught his breath, “Phew! That was sure something, wasn’t it?” 

No answer. 

He glanced off to the side to where Fiddleford sat cradling his arm nearby, “Fiddleford? Are you alright?” 

Fiddleford only stared blankly and wide-eyed, straight ahead. Ford followed his gaze and found nothing of import – just some dust floating and glinting in the afternoon sunlight filtering into the barn, some more hay strewn about, a few pieces of wood of varying sizes, and a handful of unidentifiable bits of scrap and well-rusted old machine parts. 

“Fiddleford?” he ventured again, getting onto his knees to scoot closer. He brushed a shaking hand against Fiddleford’s cheek and looked him over, “Does anything hurt?” 

“I, ah, th-there was…” the shreds of words seemed to catch in Fiddleford’s throat and crumble as he forced them out into what became a nervous, unintelligible babble. With a frustrated snarl, he abruptly fell silent again, breaths coming sharp and shallow. 

Ford ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair and let out a shaky exhale, “Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit… this isn’t good. I’m going to give you a good once over here, alright? Just…oh. Oh fuck.” His eyes trailed down to where Fiddleford was gingerly cradling his quill-covered right arm and he prodded at it gently, noticing it looked distinctly not right. Fiddleford made a pained noise at the pressure, but any words he tried to form were incomprehensible. He thumped his foot against the hay rapidly, to the point he was rather just unceremoniously shaking it, and his breath quickened even more. 

Ford cupped his face with one hand, running his thumb softly over a scrape on Fiddleford’s cheek, and tried to meet his eyes. As quickly as he did, Fiddleford screamed, startling the horses below, and shoved his left hand into Ford’s chest while trying frantically to scramble backwards with his feet. 

“Woah! Okay, okay,” Ford murmured, backing up and watching Fiddleford with concern. The image of a terrified animal in a trap awaiting the fatal final blow came to mind and tightened an uneasy knot in his chest, “Well, I’m pretty sure your arm is broken, and you have quills all over… But, I saw some pieces of wood over there. I can try and splint it for you.” 

Fiddleford tracked him for only a moment, getting stuck unfocused on anything again. He flexed his hands, wincing each time he did it with his right. Ford returned quickly, murmuring to him quietly as he approached, “Okay. I’m back. Um, this might hurt a bit, or a lot, I don’t know. Just hold tight.” At that, he began pulling the quills out as gingerly as he could. Fiddleford shook and grit his teeth, but was otherwise compliant. He dug out Fiddleford’s canteen from the backpack, which had landed in a disused old trough nearby, and doused the wounds in water, “Heh. I guess the magnet gun shut off the alarm? I really do wonder what caused that. Ugh, please tell me I remembered the gauze I was going to bring…” Ford now rifled through his own bag, retrieving a spare shirt and his pocket knife. He swore under his breath some more while he checked over Fiddleford’s arm, desperately hoping he wouldn’t jerk or try to shove him again as he gingerly felt along it and tried to ensure the bone was set well, “Alright. I’m going to splint it for you, so I need you to sit really still. Please. We should move fast and get out of here, I think.” He took a nervous glance back through the hole in the floor, relieved to find the gremloblin was still out cold, providing the horses didn’t rouse it. 

Fiddleford tensed as if he was going to flinch. Ford held his breath and paused, but he didn’t move. He quickly set back to work, holding the old, narrow boards he’d found against his arm and awkwardly trying to lash them with strips he’d cut out of his shirt, “We’ll get you something better at home. I promise.” 

“No!” 

Ford raised an eyebrow, “No what?” 

“ _ No! _ ” Fiddleford barked again, grinding his teeth hard. 

“What? Fiddleford, I don’t even know what you’re trying to say. What did it do to you?” 

Fiddleford heaved a wheezing breath and shivered, “No, no, no, no, no…. nonononono!!” 

Ford sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again, then pulled his bag over his shoulder, clasped Fiddleford’s shut, and threw it over the other, “Alright. Let’s just hurry up and get you home. I’m going to pick you up now, okay? One, two, three, hup!” with a grunt, he hefted Fiddleford into his arms and slung him over his shoulder, questioning how on earth he was going to manage to get down the ladder without a disaster occurring. It felt much like a coyote, cabbage, and sheep conundrum. He figured if he left the backpacks, especially the one with the hyperdrive, on the barn floor, the gremloblin might get into them or make off with them if it awoke. If he left Fiddleford down there, well… He hissed nervously through his teeth. That wasn’t a possibility he cared to consider for too long. 

Hoping against hope for the umpteenth time that day, he slowly and awkwardly made his descent down the dusty old ladder and crept quietly past the gremloblin, patting a horse on the nose when it tried to sniff at Fiddleford’s hair, “Not hay. Okay, bye, please don’t get attacked by that thing!” 

He adjusted the backpacks and shifted Fiddleford in his arms as he made his way across the paddock and to the road, then veered off into the trees again. The last thing he needed was nosy locals asking questions. Fiddleford mumbled something against his neck, but he couldn’t quite make it out, and settled for nodding along and grunting in acknowledgement as he pressed on, trying his best to avoid branches catching on or smacking Fiddleford. 

There had been a lot of quills in Fiddleford’s arm, and the gashes from its claws didn’t look too pretty, either. Ford swallowed dryly, not really wanting to wonder how heavy a dose of venom that thing had hit Fiddleford with – that is, if the venom rumors were true. He wished it was sensationalism and mere hearsay, but knowing Gravity Falls, it probably wasn’t. 

This was going to be a long and troubling hike, for both his mind and his back. 

Finally reaching home, Ford floundered to shove the door open and hustled to deposit Fiddleford on the couch. 

“Um, one, one second. I’ll get you some water. Hold tight.” He set both of their bags down and jogged to the kitchen, hurrying back with a cold glass of water. Fiddleford made an ineffective attempt to take it into his shaking hands and nearly dropped it. Hissing a curse through his teeth, Ford managed to catch it and helped Fiddleford bring it to his lips. He set it aside, shifting his weight anxiously from side to side, “One more second.” At that, he disappeared again, leaving Fiddleford panting shallowly and shivering in bouts, struggling to put off the nausea that was creeping in. 

“Okay, so, gremloblins are venomous…” Ford’s voice cut through the haze in Fiddleford’s mind as he reentered with first aid supplies and set them aside, “And based on local legends, it sounds like a pretty nasty neurotoxin. Not great. Not great at all. The dose you can get from the quills aren’t as severe as its bite or claws, and they say chicory salve can help with some of the irritation the quills can leave. We’ve got some growing in the yard, if I recall correctly…” he faltered, wiping the sweat from his brow, “Maybe we ought to get you cleaned up first. God knows what else that thing had on its claws, and any kind of infection is the last thing you want. C-can you hear me?” 

Fiddleford was still quaking in small bouts, curled up on himself while staring off into space and grinding his teeth, but he nodded weakly. 

Ford took this as as good of a sign as he was going to get for now, “Can you walk?” 

Fiddleford nodded once and let Ford pull him to his feet. He stumbled, leaning heavily on Ford and let Ford lead him into the bathroom and ease him down to sit on the floor. 

“Fiddleford, I am so sorry. I didn’t expect it to wake up at all. Maybe ‘unnatural’ noises startle them more? That’s interesting to consider… but that’s not the point. I’m truly sorry. I’ll make sure you’re okay, I promise. You’re safe now, and it won’t happen again, I swear, nothing like that is going to happen to you ever again. I-I’ll listen to you more next time. You have better intuition than me. I’m sorry.” 

“Jussit here, ‘kay?” 

Ford nodded and sat next to Fiddleford, a long silence ensuing. He gently took Fiddleford’s good hand, wracking his mind for what to do. It was far more of a conundrum than he felt prepared to handle, and not even knowing what kind of neurotoxin he could be dealing with was only making this impossibly more terrifying. Fiddleford convulsed next to him, saliva now running down his chin and eyes glassy. He twitched again. 

“Fidds?” 

“Hrm…?” 

“What’s up?” 

“M’gonna…throw up…” 

Ford hissed under his breath, helping support Fiddleford to scoot him closer to the toilet, “Okay. That might be good? I don’t know. I, damnit, just, whatever you need to do.” 

Fiddleford didn’t respond, weakly getting to his knees and retching violently. He only had a second to pause with a gasp before the nausea overtook him again. Ford knelt nearby, chewing at one hand and stroking Fiddleford’s hair with the other, tucking loose strands behind his ears. 

Fiddleford panted, shoulders heaving, and screamed. 

Ford jumped, startled, “Hey, hey, hey, it’s oka-“ 

Fiddleford tried to scream again, but was barely able to give Ford a panicked glance before turning away to retch again and cough roughly. Ford scooted closer to him on his knees and gingerly put a hand on his back. 

“Hey, Fidds, it’s alright. Here, give me your glasses.” 

Fiddleford turned to him, freezing with his bright blue eyes wide in terror as Ford gently pulled his glasses off and set them on the sink before dutifully returning to his side. Fiddleford stayed stock still save for the quivering that still wracked his body, drooling and fixing his gaze somewhere just past Ford on something unidentifiable. 

Ford grimaced uneasily, “I don’t even know what kind of neurotoxin that damn thing has…” he sighed roughly, “I’m… Anyway, how are you doing?” 

Fiddleford shook his head. 

“Could you drink some more water?” 

He only offered Ford a vacant look, but managed to nod weakly. 

“Good. I’ll be right back.” 

Fiddleford slumped against the wall as Ford left, continuously wracked with shivers as he tried to curl up on himself as tightly as possible. He couldn’t hold onto a thought for more than a few fleeting seconds, and anything he tried to latch onto was spliced away by a vague but overpowering notion of something incomprehensible and horrifying. With that haziness hanging thick in his head, it was less of a coherent picture right now and more a gripping, primal feeling perhaps not unlike the last second of life experienced by a rabbit as a predator’s jaws closed down on the hapless prey. Nothing was clear, but everything was wrong. He felt too hot and too cold all at once and wanted nothing more than to crawl out of his own skin, but he didn’t even have the energy or coordination to bother trying to claw at himself. His breaths came quick and shallow and he darted his eyes vigilantly around the room. A latent drip from the bath faucet made him jerk and tense and stare bug-eyed at the source of the noise. He shuddered again and tried to wipe away the drool that kept running down his chin. It was an unceremonious motion and only marginally effective, and not entirely sure where he was swiping his arm, he gave up. It felt like his heart rate had finally started to slow and settled from the pummeling it was doing for so long, and that was a little bit comforting. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been quite this sweaty, despite suddenly feeling terribly cold. That was a little less comforting. He coughed. 

Ford finally returned, settling in next to him again and offered him the glass of water. Fiddleford took it with effort, needing Ford to help him keep it steady again. He struggled to swallow and broke away panting after a long draught, then immediately pulled it to his mouth again. Repeat. Ford watched him carefully, uneasy at the strange look in his eyes and how immensely dilated his pupils still were. He scratched at the back of his head and cursed himself mentally, stretching to grab a bit of toilet paper to wipe off Fiddleford’s mouth. Fiddleford scrunched up his face at the touch, jerking away from him. 

“How are you doing now?” 

“B-bad,” Fiddleford slurred, “Cold.” 

“You’re drenched in sweat.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Can you understand me?” 

Fiddleford nodded limply, “Mm. Jus’can’talkgood.” 

“Can I get you into the bath now? We can clean off the scratches better.” 

Fiddleford slurred an agreement, trying ineffectively to fuss with his shirt before Ford stopped him. 

“I don’t want you to injure your arm any further, so hold it still until we can get something more sturdy on it. We’re going to sacrifice this shirt, okay?” 

Fiddleford nodded and let Ford set to work, pulling his knife from his pocket and flicking it open to carefully slice away the fabric and help him pull it off, “Great. Okay, I’m going to pull your boots off, now. Socks, too. Can you scoot just a bit?” 

Fiddleford obeyed, allowing Ford to help him get the last of his clothes off. His head felt stuffy and hazy and a light, electric sort of fear sparked and hummed like a bizarre background static to the barely coherent images that still blurred by in his mind. Every last muscle felt like it was being shot through with an alien shock, slowing down his responses if not locking him up entirely. It sent a new wave of panic through him, but he couldn’t quite react. Too slow. Too fast. Too everything. Too nothing. Too real. Too unreal. He mumbled a bit to Ford, but his own voice felt unsettlingly far away and apart from himself. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to communicate, but he knew it was urgently important. The frustration at his own ineffectiveness was a ten-ton weight on his chest, making breathing an even more daunting task than it already was. 

“Oh, great, your legs got scratched up, too...” Ford sighed, rolling up his sleeves. He got to his feet again and cranked the shower on, holding his hand under it to get it to as acceptable a temperature as was possible. As usual, it was always a little too hot or a little too cold despite endless fiddling, but now wasn’t really the time for much precision, or so he figured. 

“Alright, let’s get you in the water. One, two, three, hup!” Fiddleford stumbled again as Ford helped him to his feet, then swept him up into his arms. Ford held his breath as he tried to gingerly set him in the tub, ignoring the water that spattered onto his glasses, and fetched a washcloth to start gently cleaning off the lacerations marring Fiddleford’s pale skin. Fiddleford resigned himself, another weak shudder wracking his body. Ford reached out and rubbed at his shoulder softly before getting back to focusing on the few deep clawmarks on his side, eyebrows furrowing when they reopened enough for blood to flow down with the water. 

“Ford, ‘m gonn- throw up again-“ 

“One sec!” Ford was on his feet in an instant and tore off for the kitchen. He returned with a pot, shoving it under Fiddleford’s chin in the nick of time. He kept steady, waiting. Fiddleford finally caught his breath and pushed it aside. 

“Water.” 

Ford wordlessly took the glass and handed it to him, once again helping keep it steady in Fiddleford’s shaking hand. He took a long drink, finishing off the last of it, and wiped his face off on his left forearm. He shivered again, balling his good hand feebly in his bangs, and winced when he thoughtlessly flexed his right arm. Something about the sharp arrow of pain seemed to spur his mind into a clarity he would have traded anything to avoid. His thoughts slowed just long enough for him to grasp and process them. He didn’t want to. He ground his teeth painfully, letting out a muffled scream that he tried to keep low in his throat, but as quick as the images came, they were gone again, blurred into that same sickening haze that had taken up residence in his brain. Dragging his hand down his face, he sucked down rapid breaths, each one a greater effort than the last. He felt far away, almost like fainting and being split from himself. The next spike of raw panic that surged through him felt almost as if it belonged to someone else or was a faint echo that faded and rippled like a stone dropping into water. In its wake, it left something like a thick, cold ooze that injected itself into his veins and seized his entire body in a most unfathomably uncomfortable way that left him wanting to writhe out of his own skin. 

Fiddleford couldn’t be perfectly sure, as it was hard to piece anything together through the contradictory, cacophonous onslaught of thoughts and feelings assaulting him, but he had the vague notion of Ford talking to him, that rich voice the only thing keeping the looming sense of doom at bay though it still rose on the horizon of his consciousness like an oncoming storm. His voice was the calm in the eye of a hurricane, and so in the eye he sat. 

He was wet. Then he was lurching, lifted by sturdy arms and soon after felt rough cloth being dragged over his skin. It stung horribly against the cuts and scrapes and gouges and whatever else there was, he wasn’t even sure anymore by the way everything burned and ached. There was light somewhere and he wanted to cower from it, but it was warm and looking at it was better than looking at the shifting shadows surrounding it. The shadows felt and smelled like the storm, like electricity in the air, like the threat of a lightning strike wasting him in one agonizing instant, and so as much as it hurt, the bright, warm light was preferable. 

There was pain again, sharp and horrible and piercing through the fog, clearing it away just long enough for a glimpse at what he had seen before and something so much worse that language would have failed him to describe even if he had all of his faculties. He couldn’t move or scream. The pain got sharper and swelled into a dam-breaking deluge that drowned out the darkness. There was pressure now. Ford’s voice filtered through like a mist, providing something to more comfortably drown in than all the noise and torment. Fiddleford was fairly sure he vomited again, but it was still upsettingly difficult to discern what was real and what was a dream; however, he was quite certain he heard Ford yelp and start cussing. 

Everything lurched hard and he felt uneasy and nauseous all over again and desperately wanted to beg whatever was apparently carrying him to set him down, or at least tell him where he was going. He wanted to plead whatever it was to not take him through the beast’s eyes, but the words wouldn’t come out as much as he fought to form them. His head could nearly split from the sheer frustration at feeling this helpless. 

Ford’s voice reached him again and provided a shaky grounding point. He was warm. Something was soft against his skin. Next, there were fingers in his hair, drawing through the mussed locks and gently scratching at his scalp. With relief, he was able to slow his breathing. 

Everything was quiet for a moment, save for the faintest ring somewhere far, far away. Emma-May was singing, her voice soft but clear, and he could almost see her but her form was only barely perceptible through the swirling muted-color mishmash. Almost as soon as he caught clear sight of her, she disappeared. The ringing was a little bit louder now, but was soon cut through by Tate’s voice crying out for help, though it sounded distorted and Fiddleford couldn’t figure out where his voice was coming from. Panic struck him again like a merciless wave, distorting Tate’s voice more and more every time he thought he was getting closer. Eventually, he couldn’t hear him anymore. There was a beat of complete and unnerving silence, and Tate was in front of him, clear as day, bloodied by scratchmarks and eyes wide in terror. Without hesitation, Fiddleford reached out for him but his arms seemed to go nowhere. He tried to speak and call out to Tate, but his voice went nowhere. Every step he took forward seemed to bend space and pull him farther away instead. 

Fiddleford tried to scream, and once again, his voice hit a wall, cut off by some unseen force and another rush of nausea. This time he was sure he vomited. 

Ford started talking again and Fiddleford felt something against his face, gentle and cool, though Ford’s voice sounded far away and the sound warped and twisted, contorted into an unnerving caricature of what he recognized. Just like that, everything stopped, grinding to a halt that felt like the harsh screech of metal on metal followed by stark nothing. He was warm. A hand was stroking through his hair again before it stopped, drifted down, and curled around his left hand to squeeze it tightly. 

Ford sounded like himself again. “Please trust me, you’ll be okay. I love you.” 

It staved off the chaos long enough to let his mind go blissfully dark and silent again. 

A muffled noise had Ford snapping awake and chiding himself for being careless enough to doze off. Fiddleford seemed to be awake now, but was staring straight up at the ceiling and crying, hissing shaking breaths through his teeth. 

Ford glanced over at the clock. Sixteen hours had passed since they’d reached home, and the relief that washed over him at seeing Fiddleford awake was almost overwhelming. The hour or so Fiddleford had been asleep amounted to perhaps the most terrifying moments Ford had experienced so far, worrying he wouldn’t wake up. It didn’t help that the most information he could find about dealing with this unknown neurotoxin was essentially “wait and pray.” 

So wait he did, vigilantly keeping watch over Fiddleford, fussing over him, and diligently checking his breathing and pulse every few minutes since he became barely responsive in the shower. 

“Fiddleford? Are you awake?” Ford finally ventured. 

“I’unno.” 

Though the uncertainty wasn’t comforting, it brought Ford some relief that Fiddleford was at last responding somewhat coherently. 


	19. Between Midnight and the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford continues to struggle with recovering from his harrowing experience with the gremloblin, and potentially figures out a better solution than what Ford has been trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up - this chapter does touch on some suicidal ideation and such
> 
> "Between Midnight and the Dawn" is a great song by Steep Canyon Rangers. Check it out!

Ford shoved the door open with his hip and cast one last cautious, scanning look outside before coming in, struggling a bit with the dolly he was using to cart a large barrel into the house. He hurried for the elevator to the basement, thankful he’d seen Fiddleford’s wisdom in the suggestion. Not long after, he returned and headed for his room, where he’d insisted Fiddleford stay over the past few days while he recovered.

“I’m back.”

Fiddleford was awake, presently sat on the couch absentmindedly playing his banjo. Whatever he was plucking out was less of a song and more of a disjointed assortment of notes masquerading as a tune. He glanced up, tensing for a moment, but didn’t stop playing, “It’s late. Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so. Well, either way, I still consider this useful and welcome repurposing of nuclear waste, wouldn’t you say?”

“S’pose you could call it that.”

Ford sat down next to him with a huff, “Did you get any sleep while I was out?”

Fiddleford shook his head glumly, “I tried. It’s no use. I don’t know what’s worse, the nightmares or bein’ awake. I think I’m goin’ to completely lose my head soon, Stanferd.” His voice cracked and he faltered on the next string he tried to pick. He hissed under his breath in irritation and readjusted the picks on his fingers to try again. A flat note, a botched pull-off, a slide that went too far, and each of these had the focused annoyance on his face and in his movements growing increasingly obvious. Nothing was quite right, and with an impatient growl, he pulled the picks off his fingers and smacked them onto the side table with a clatter. Ford followed his movements and noticed the cubic’s cube sitting nearby remained scrambled as he’d left it. It didn’t sit right with Ford. Fiddleford always, always, always fixed his cubic’s cube and never left it unsolved, and now it had been a number of days with no change. It didn’t look like he’d even touched the thing. 

Ford bit his lip apprehensively. “Not even a bit?”

“Not more than what my body is forcin’ on me, and it doesn’t feel good.” Fiddleford brought his good hand up to pull his fingers through his hair.

Ford eyed his movements carefully. “How’s your arm?”

“It’s doin’ better. I’m lucky the fracture wasn’t worse. I’m still furious with you for not takin’ me to the hospital to start with. What were you thinkin’?!”

Ford shrugged, “I-I don’t know? What if they thought we were nuts if I said you got attacked by a monster?”

Fiddleford sighed raggedly, now knotting both hands in his hair (or, rather, trying to as best he could with one hand partially immobilized), and resting his elbows on his thighs, “Stanferd, I’m more concerned about that than you and it still took very little to come up with an excuse. I had a bad fall. End of story. They bought it just fine. Even I’ve noticed how no one questions anything around here, anyway.”

“I was dealing with a lot of adrenaline! I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Clearly.”

“I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to… I really didn’t think it would wake up, and if it weren’t for the alarm, it probably wouldn’t have.”

Fiddleford sat back and let his arms down. He stared numbly at his cast, “I know. Just, use a bit more common sense, would ya?” he drew another rough breath, voice cracking worse as he spoke this time, “I’m so tired, Stanferd. I’m so damn tired.”

Ford’s face twisted in concern. He scooted a bit closer.

“I’m just really glad that hyperdrive works and that you fanaggled a way to get fuel for it.” Fiddleford grumbled, letting himself slump to lean on Ford, “You’re a real wild thing.”

“Heh, yeah. I’m glad, too, or else that whole trip really would have felt like a waste.” He almost kept speaking, but fell silent.  _ At least I got to spend a lot of time with you, except everything went wrong. _

“It wouldn’t have been. We found a new species, for goodness’ sake. I got to see a real UFO, so…” Fiddleford trailed off, biting down hard on his lip and screwing his eyes shut, “Ugh, not this again...”

Ford leaned forward to look at him, noticing his breathing getting rapid and shallow. He took Fiddleford’s good hand, squeezing it between both of his own, “Fiddleford, listen to me. You can hear me, right?”

Fiddleford jolted at the touch and wrenched away from Ford’s hands, backing off in a scramble to the end of the couch and sucking down strained breaths with his eyes snapped wide, “Just don’t- Don’t. Please.”

“Fiddleford, it’s me, it’s okay-“

“Don’t get closer!”

“Okay, okay. Look, I’m not coming any closer, see?” Ford spoke softly, “Just like last night and the night before that. You’re in my house right now.”

“Okay, I know, I know.”

“Should I grab you some water?”

“No, I want you to tear my damn brain out! Just, make it-“ Fiddleford broke off into a pained whine, smacking himself roughly in the face, “Ugh! Just! Get! Out! Get it out and make it stop! I don’t care if you clock me in the head with a two by four! I can’t- I can’t-“

Ford hesitated, “I’m not going to hurt you just to knock you out. That won’t do anything but give you brain damage. Try and breathe with me.”

“I don’t care! I already told you, that don’t help nothin’! You know what would damn well help, Stanferd?!”

“What? Anything, anything.”

Fiddleford dug his fingers into the couch, scratching against the old burnt orange upholstery and stomping the floor roughly with trembling breaths, “Just- just- ju- Goddammit! Just kill me, okay?! Please!”

Ford was near him before he even registered it and was pulling him close against his chest, “Fiddleford, you cut that out  _ now _ .”

Fiddleford let out a ragged yell, thrashing and struggling desperately against Ford. Ford held him fast, waiting for him to slow down and stroked his hair gently, murmuring to him, “It’s me. It’s me. It’s Stanford. You’re safe. I promise. Please trust me.”

“Let go! Let go, I swear to God!”

Ford didn’t relent and kept him held tight until he finally stopped thrashing and slackened, going half limp and shaking with broken sobs in Ford’s arms.

“I almost tried while you were gone.” Fiddleford finally managed to wheeze weakly. He brought his good arm up and balled his hand into the fabric of Ford’s vest, “I just can’t take it. I’ve been thinkin’ of it more and more, just to make it stop. I’m so tired,” his breath hitched hard, “I’m just so tired…”

“Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, you’re not allowed to die.” Ford murmured tersely, continuing to run his fingers through Fiddleford’s hair, “At least not yet, not anytime soon. It’s going to be okay. It’s only been a few days.”

Fiddleford shifted to get a little more comfortable than the awkward position he was contorted in, still quivering, “I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to… I’m sorry.”

“I should be sorry. We’re going to fix this. I promise.”

“It’s gettin’ a tiny bit better. It’s not constantly in my head anymore, I mean, I had a coherent conversation with you, for a little before it came back… but it’s usually still there, and then it comes in and eats up all my thoughts and-“ Another ragged sob wracked him, “I don’t- I can’t talk about it. Talkin’ brings it back.”

“See? That’s…a start.” Ford pulled away a bit, tilting Fiddleford’s head up by the chin to meet his eyes. Fiddleford resisted, but Ford urged him anyway.

“Ford, don’t, I look a mess…”

“You do, but that’s not the point.” Ford brushed a tear off Fiddleford’s cheek, “As I was trying to say the other day, I’ve been through a few monster attacks and harrowing situations before. It’s definitely, erm, an experience, but over the past few years I’ve figured out some good tricks to deal with bad memories. I can show you, if you feel alright enough to try.”

Fiddleford sniffled, shaking his head and still pointedly refusing to make eye contact, though Ford’s voice and warmth was at least holding his mind steady enough to function for now, “I don’t know. I’m willin’ to try anything at this point.”

“Alright. We’ll do that, then, and see if it helps. Remember, we’re scientists. We can use our creativity and a little logic to conquer anything, even fear, and I’ve seen you conquer fear on countless occasions as long as I’ve known you.”

A hint of a smile tugged at Fiddleford’s lips, “I guess. Can we try now? I’m exhausted. I don’t know how much longer I can endure this if I can’t bring it under control.”

Ford nodded enthusiastically, “Absolutely! Okay,” he scooted back, letting his hand drift to twist into Fiddleford’s, “I know you said that focusing on your breathing doesn’t always work well for you, so we can try some meditation that can help slow your heart rate and get you grounded.”

“Okay.”

Ford began leading him through it, reluctant to let go of his hand. It seemed to be working, with Fiddleford slowly managing to steady his breathing and slacken a bit. It was still clear the exhaustion of not sleeping for multiple days was catching up to him hard, and his focus seemed to increasingly falter.

Ford paused, studying his face, “How are you feeling?”

“It’s helpin’ a bit.” Fiddleford murmured sleepily, “I don’t know. I’m rather overloaded.”

“We can do more of it tomorrow, but you at least got a taste of it for now.” Ford offered, “I want to get the hyperdrive working in the morning, though.”

“I can help with that, if you want.”

“That would be nice. But that means you really need to sleep if you want to be in proper shape for handling radioactive waste.”

That seemed to stress Fiddleford out again, “I know, I know, though you’re one to talk-“

“Ah-ah!” Ford chided, “How about this: I picked up some candles at the store the other day, they were on sale and all smell really nice. Do you think you’d like them?”

“I don’t know, it depends on what they smell like.”

Ford cracked a small grin, “One second, I’ll get them for you to decide.” At that, he got to his feet and disappeared to retrieve them. Fiddleford patted out a rough pattern on his leg, trying to keep his mind clear, though in the silence and the absence of much to occupy him, the few minutes he was alone were more daunting than he wanted to admit. Much to his relief, Ford finally returned, struggling with an awkward armful of candles, “Alright, pick your favorite.”

Fiddleford cracked each one open, curling his lip at one of them, “Don’t light that one anywhere near me, at least… Hm. The mint one’s nice.”

“Really?”

“You don’t like that one?”

Ford shrugged, “No, I only got ones I thought were nice. I may have grabbed that one with you in mind, though…heh. I’m glad I guessed right.”

Fiddleford let out a shy chuff, “Well, thank you. I do like it a lot.”

“Then I’m putting that one on and you’re coming to bed.”

Fiddleford flushed, “Huh?”

“It’s been days, and by the sounds of it, not by choice. You need to try to sleep.”

“Yeah, heh. It feels plumb weird for you to be tellin’ me that and not the other way around.”

“The tables have briefly turned,” Ford said, lighting the candle. He finished changing into pajamas, swatting Fiddleford playfully out of the way so he could lay down, then dragged Fiddleford up alongside him and buried his face against the back of his neck. Fiddleford conceded to this and wriggled closer against him, snaking his arm around Ford’s and clutching it tightly against himself. It kept the thoughts of the gremloblin’s haunting gaze at bay for the moment, though he now had to push away the notion that Ford had been acting strangely lately. For now, Ford was warm and strong and familiar. He reminded himself over and over that he was safe for now until it was a nearly mind-numbing mantra.

For now. That heavy caveat sat like a rock on his chest.

For now.

Fiddleford woke with a jolt at one point, finding himself unable to scream and left frozen in place watching and slowly registering the shadows that shifted around the room and the heavy weight that sunk suffocatingly down onto him. Ford grunted in his sleep, breath ruffling Fiddleford’s hair. It was a welcome reminder and call to reality that let darkness take him again, though fitfully so.

Ford woke blearily to sunlight slanting through the stained glass overhead, casting colored patterns on the floor. The fading smell of a rain from last night carried in through the window, and there was a distinct lack of anything in his arms. He craned his head to see if Fiddleford had moved over to the other section of the couch, but it, too, was empty. Trying to reason away the worry creeping into his mind, he got up and hurried to put on his glasses and head out to check the kitchen. Fiddleford was there, sat at the table with a coffee and flipping through the paper.

Ford breathed a sigh of relief, “Good morning, Fiddleford. When did you get up?”

“Awhile ago.” Fiddleford stated cheerily, setting the paper down.

Ford made a face, “Awhile?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

Fiddleford gave a slight shrug, “Some. A couple hours, at least. I feel far better for it! I spent the rest of the night working!”

Ford tilted his head, “On the portal? What did you get done? Did you see if the hyperdrive was operational?”

Fiddleford shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee, “No, no, not the portal. I figured out a cure for my anxiety! Check this out!” at that, he pulled out a gunlike device from where it had sat on one of the adjacent chairs, “Neat, huh?”

“What is it?”

“A memory gun!”

Ford quirked an eyebrow, “Excuse me, a what now?”

“A memory gun!” Fiddleford chirped, chipper as can be, “You can target specific memories and, in effect, erase them. I’m good as new!”

“So, you don’t…“

Fiddleford got to his feet, bringing the device over to allow Ford to inspect it more closely, “I know somethin’ bad happened. I recall crashin’ into that hayloft, but not much else. Good enough for me! I kept the important bits and scrapped what was buggin’ me!”

“Wait, so if you remember the gremloblin-“

“-Shut up!” Fiddleford cut him off, bristling.

Ford jolted, taken aback, “Woah, okay, um…”

Fiddleford remained tense, “I do, I do, but nothin’ else, and I’m leavin’ it like that, so don’t bring it up anymore, okay? Please, I’m beggin’ you. I was so close to…” he ground his teeth, knee starting to bounce, “Look, I don’t even want to think about it. Anyway, I think this might just be the dandiest thing I ever made!”

Ford grimaced, hesitant, “Uh-huh… How does it work?”

Fiddleford brightened up again and launched into an impassioned explanation, sparing no details in how he designed it while he tried to ignore the growing concern on Ford’s face. He finally slowed down, “I get the sense you’re not too impressed.”

Ford scratched the back of his head uneasily, “Well, it’s an impressive device and it’s also very impressive you did all this in the span of a night, but I expect nothing less from you. It’s just…” he made a few vague gestures as he gathered his thoughts, “I don’t think this is the best way to deal with problems. You’re just running from them, and at what cost? What if it has negative side effects? What if something were to go wrong, or you made a mistake with it, or what if it fell into the wrong hands? It just seems risky and like more of a bandage than an actual solution.”

Fiddleford leveled a scathing glower at him, “Alright, and what else was I supposed to do? Go mad until I completely lost it or killed myself?”

“No, of course not! But you didn’t even keep trying my heart rate controlling exercises, or even give meditation a full try… It’s not like those are going to fix it overnight, you know.”

“But  _ this  _ did!”

Ford sighed, running his fingers through his bangs as he went to pour himself a coffee and sat down. He ushered Fiddleford to rejoin him at the table and folded his hands around the mug, “Listen to me, Fiddleford. You’re a brilliant man, and more brilliant than to use something as dangerous as this. It’s not going to fix your problems to just blast them into oblivion! Where’s the growth in that? And again…” he chewed at his lip and took a nervous sip of his coffee, “Brains are…delicate things. There’s so much we don’t understand or even know about them, especially you and I. What if it affects non-target memories or other brain functions? You could forget your name, or how to drive, or your work, or…or your family. Then what?”

Fiddleford mulled this over for a few moments, then sighed, shoulders dropping in resignation, “Yeah. You’re right. I was probably bein’ rash. I don’t know what I’d do if I forgot Tate or Emma-May, or you, or, heck, how to use a soldering iron.”

“Then do me a favor and destroy the godforsaken thing, alright?”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some thoughts on the potential aftermath of Ford and Fidds' day at the carnival. They've both got a lot on their minds to say the the least, and an ill-timed phone call isn't making things any easier.

“I seriously can’t believe you went to a palm reader,” Fiddleford snickered as he and Ford made their way down the dusty road back to the house, shadows playing over gray clouds that obscured the sky and the slow fade of summer signaled by autumn’s first hint of a chill starting to creep into the afternoon breeze. 

Ford laughed in turn, “I know, I was just hoping to expose her as the fraud I know she is, but get this, she tried  _ flirting  _ with me! Can you believe that? I knew I had to get out of there quick after that, she was coming on pretty strong.”

Fiddleford elbowed him roughly, “The fact you even noticed that she was flirting with you tells me she was coming on plenty strong.”

“Yeah. Hey, what were you talking about with that kid at the Ferris wheel? I caught part of the conversation, but I thought I saw you hand him something.” Ford grit his teeth a bit as he awaited Fiddleford’s response, chest tight with nervousness. The kid had been talking about bad memories for one, and moreover whatever it was that Fiddleford tried to keep hushed between them was doing no favors to ease his nerves.

“Huh?”

“He was talking about a bad memory. You did destroy that memory gun, correct?”

“That old thing? Yeah, of course.” Fiddleford waved his hand in apparent nonchalance, “You were right. It was…it was a bad idea.”

Ford couldn’t shake the thought of the palm reader’s words. Surely it was all malarkey, but her warnings about choosing the wrong allies and being deceived by someone close to him weren’t exactly reassuring sentiments given what he’d witnessed. He shoved his hands in his pockets, almost reluctant to continue pursuing this, “And you never used it on me or anyone else other than yourself, you swear on your life?”

Fiddleford jolted, almost tripping and putting in substantial effort to quell any outward signs of the anxiety shooting through him now. Mirroring Ford, he readjusted the gourd he was toting under his arm and shoved his hands roughly into his pockets, “Why would I? I only had the chance to use it on myself anyway. You told me it was a bad idea. I agreed. I destroyed it. End of story. Done.”

Ford eyed him and chewed at his lip, still a bit skeptical, “Okay…”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

Ford blinked, “No, of course I trust you, Fiddleford! I lo-, I mean, I, erm, well, yes. I’m sorry. But what were you discussing with him, then? What did you hand him?”

Fiddleford forced a laugh and made himself slacken, “Silly. I was fixin’ the Ferris wheel for him, and he said something about havin’ trouble with the other rides sometimes. I just gave him my card in case they want to call me up for repairs while they’re in the area. We were also discussin’ computers before you walked up, and I was lettin’ him know I’d be happy to build him one if he’d be interested in tryin’ out my prototype. He seemed like a nice kid. Hardworking but has kinda gotten the short end of the stick, like us.”

Ford considered this. It seemed plausible, and he figured it was ridiculous to let some stupid palm reader come along and breed mistrust with little basis for it, “Very well. That’s a pretty generous offer!”

“I just like helpin’. There’s no sense in not doin’ what I can for folks.”

Ford scratched at his neck, “Heheh, I don’t think I’ve ever been half the man you are in that respect.”

“If you got out more, you’d find plenty of opportunities.”

“Oh, shut up! Just, um, purely out of curiosity, how did you destr-“

Fiddleford tensed at the incoming question and cut in, shoving the gourd at Ford, “Hey, before I forget, I got you a present!”

Ford quirked a quizzical eyebrow at the bizarre squash, “A gourd? Yeesh, it looks like it has a hideous face.”

“C’mon, he looks just like you! He’s gourd-geous!”

“I’m taking offense to that!”

“Hey, don’t be so sour. You’re still my favorite reject gourd!”

“What? Where did you even get it?”

Fiddleford shrugged cheerily, “A barrel of throwaway gourds. It stuck out to me. Look, he’s even got your nose!”

“Oh my God…”

Fiddleford sighed in relief once Ford started laughing and chattering on about something else. Crisis averted, hopefully forever. Watching the excitement play over Ford’s face as he spoke, Fiddleford found himself wondering if it were possible to craft a gun that would specifically erase guilt, though he wasn’t sure that was a line of consideration he should keep pursuing.

The evening settled in softly and quietly. The brief tension of their walk and the strain that had been piling up over the previous days seemed to wash away as the sky’s colors bled out across the horizon and faded. 

“It’s a little harder to fuss with all this with my arm in a cast, but, oh well,” Fiddleford muttered from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. He’d brought out his prototype computer to begin work on his latest updates, “The one I gave you isn’t quite as far along as this one, but I can tinker with yours more if you’d like me to. I’m just hesitant to do any risky experiments on a present, heheh.”

Ford sat nearby, setting aside the book he’d only been reading for a moment in favor of watching Fiddleford, “Maybe. I still don’t quite know what I’ll use it for.”

“Like I said, notes and stuff is a start, and some statistical modeling and the like.”

“I’m still insisting it’s essentially a clunky journal.”

Fiddleford laughed softly, “It could be that, and so much more!”

“I suppose so. We’ll see. I am still curious to see what else you’re trying to do with these things. This is so much smaller than what you were working with back at Oak Ridge!”

“And at this stage it can do about half the same things! Neat, huh?” Fiddleford beamed before turning to dig around for a screwdriver.

Ford rested his chin on his hand, watching him adoringly. The last crickets of the season were calling outside, their soft, slowing chirps drifting in through the open window, “That is pretty neat. I can see it being convenient for some people, depending on their line of work.”

“And what I’m sayin’ is it’d be plenty helpful for our lines of work, but I’ll chide you on that later. Give me a night with some of your datasheets and I’ll show you some magic.” Fiddleford insisted as he worked another screw away, “Anyway, the guts of this one are a little bit different than the one I made you, too. One sec.” He finished removing the screws, carefully setting them aside and rapping his knee to count and confirm they were all together before launching into an excited, rambling explanation of the inner workings of this prototype and the changes and tweaks he had in mind. Ford had to admit he had a few points when it came to using it for statistical modeling - it wouldn’t hurt to have a few models for eye-bat population trends on the backburner for a handful of smaller publications. 

Fiddleford trailed off briefly to adjust something, and Ford noticed him shiver slightly as he worked. It already felt like an immense exercise in self-control to not scoot closer and slide his arm around Fiddleford. It felt all too natural to do that.

Another thought came with a dark weight behind it. Did Fiddleford even remember the night on the mountain, or had he wiped that memory, too? Ford had been hesitant to ask or even begin prodding around that topic. Fiddleford was married, after all; however, it didn’t change what he had said that night. It didn’t change how everything felt. It didn’t change the fact that it was increasingly obvious they were both dodging and dancing awkwardly around something that had grown far more massive and baffling than a metaphorical elephant in the room.

Fiddleford leaned back for a moment to reach for some thermal paste, absentmindedly brushing up against Ford as he did so. He flitted his gaze nervously to Ford once, a barely imperceptible movement, and got back to his present task as if nothing had happened. He shivered again as the night breeze coasted past him from the window. Ford chewed at his lip and continued to watch him, then decided to shove all reason aside and do what his bones screamed at him to do. He shifted closer, nervously putting his arm around Fiddleford and let his hand slip down to rest softly on his hip. Fiddleford jerked, glancing quizzically at Ford.

“Uh-“

Ford blinked, “Um, you…looked cold.”

Fiddleford blinked back and felt his heart skip a beat, “I am, a little.”

“I can grab you a jacket or a blanket or something-“

“-No, you can stay there. Just don’t bump my arm and mess me up or I’ll lop yours off. Dangit, where’s my soldering iron?”

Ford nodded, “Right over here.” He took the soldering iron and offered it to Fiddleford, their hands grazing and a moment of hesitation passing between them when they locked eyes.

Fiddleford took it, only to reach past Ford and set it on its stand again, and smiled softly when Ford brushed his fingers over his cheek and pressed their foreheads together. Another moment’s hesitation passed with held breath before their resolve crumbled into a soft kiss.

“Did you mean what you said on the mountain?” Ford breathed, barely breaking away.

Fiddleford froze. His voice rode on a quivering note, “Yes. Did you?”

“Yes.” For a second, Ford almost wanted to pursue this topic in conversation, but Fiddleford gave him a curious look with those godforsaken blue eyes and in an instant he was gone.

For a second, Fiddleford was going to hesitate again and may have considered stopping there as reason and respectability commanded, but Ford was looking at him with that godforsaken dreamy reverence he always did and in an instant he was gone. It simply felt too familiar, too correct, and too much like home to fold together like this. Fiddleford shivered against the chill that increasingly crept into the room and Ford pulled him closer, practically tucking him into his coat as he kissed him. A breathless gasp had Ford tumbling over him onto the floor and straddling him with one hand linked to Fiddleford’s, the other landing on his chest. Ford didn’t dare break away, more than content to melt into this as he pressed his tongue into Fiddleford’s mouth.

Fiddleford tensed for a moment, letting out a tiny grunt into the kiss and rolling his hips up against Ford’s. He knotted his fingers into Ford’s unruly hair, almost a force of habit, warmth surging through him at the sigh it earned. Freeing his other hand, he trailed them over Ford’s shoulders and down his sides to slip his fingers under the waistband of his pants, pressing the pads of his fingers against his hips and urging him to grind down against him. 

The phone rang. They broke away abruptly, bashful and breathing heavily. Ford awkwardly got to his feet and scurried over to answer it.

“Hello? Oh, hi! Yes, he’s here. Hehhh…one moment, please. Hey, Fiddleford, it’s – it’s Emma-May.”

Fiddleford felt his stomach drop and hurried over to take the phone from Ford, running his hand through his hair and fidgeting with his clothes, “H-hi, hun,”

Ford tensed his jaw and sauntered out of the room, muttering unintelligibly to himself. Now felt like a very good time for a shower and to overthink this, or, preferably, to not think about it at all.

Meanwhile, Fiddleford wound the phone cord around his hand, pulled it loose, drew it between his fingers, and repeated that sequence as he spoke, tapping his foot in a sharp staccato, “Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m okay. How are you?”

Emma-May tilted her head, curious about the strange edge to his voice, “I’m fine. I just figured I’d call now that Tate’s out cold and y’all are hopefully slowin’ down for the day. I hope it’s not too late.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Fiddleford assured, almost tripping over his own toolbox and stretching the phone cord far before pacing back.

“You sound kind of out of breath. What were you doin’?”

The color drained from Fiddleford’s face, “Nothing, haha, I just had to run across the house to grab the phone. We were actually just sittin’ around for once. We went to the carnival in town today, and I won a lot on the pig races! I don’t think Ford was as into it as I was, though.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice. You sounded so out of it last time we talked… I’m glad things seem a little less stressful right now. Don’t be working yourselves to death! How much did you win?”

“Fifty bucks! Can you believe it?”

“That’s quite the handsome prize!”

Fiddleford forced a laugh, “That’s what probability’s for, baby!”

Emma-May caught on immediately, “I- Fiddleford Hadron! Doesn’t that toe the line a bit as cheatin’?”

Fiddleford swallowed hard, twisting the phone cord around his fingers until they went red, “M-maybe a little, heheh. They had some real good kettle corn there, too! Almost as good as the stuff from that stand outside the grocery store back home,” he glanced at the cast on his arm, mind grasping for anything he could say to avoid silence, “Oh, did I tell you I broke my arm when we were out campin’?”

Emma-May’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then furrowed in befuddlement, “What?! How?! Why didn’t you tell me this the other day?”

“Um,” Fiddleford found himself at a loss, “I think I blacked out and fell on some rocks.”

“You  _ think _ ?!”

“Well, I’m quite sure I blacked out, because I woke up to Stanferd tendin’ me. It wasn’t a bad fracture, I somehow only broke my ulna and it was a clean break, so it’s okay! It’ll be healed in no time, and Stanferd’s even trying to figure out a way to speed all that up a touch.”

Emma-May found this dubious at best, “That sounds a little risky. Maybe you ought to just let it heal normally?”

“Maybe, but it is gettin’ in the way of work.”

“Hm. I guess. You sound real tense, are you sure you’re feelin’ better? Why didn’t you tell me you broke your goddamn arm?!”

Fiddleford chuffed another nervous laugh, “I just didn’t want to worry you, sugar. But you’re right, I should have let you know,” he tugged at his bangs, mulling over the benefits, if any, of coming clean about the entire Ford situation he had on his hands. The guilt settled like an uncomfortable and heavy pit in his stomach, and he reckoned he’d do anything to rid himself of the feeling. He sighed softly, “Um, this might be really crazy, but I also have…um…”

“What?”

Apprehension gripped him again when he considered how awful it would be to hear her cry. It would be too much, and even more, what about Tate? He missed him crawling into bed next to him enough already to jeopardize his chances of ever experiencing that again right now. Furthermore, it felt so rushed to tell her now. A conversation like that had to be handled delicately, if Fiddleford had anything to say about it. For all the wrong he’d done, he figured the least he could do is figure out a way to do as right by her in handling this as was possible with such a mess. He wondered how she might even react – it wasn’t as if he’d merely been with another woman, and if word got out back home… He shuddered at the prospect. He cast a glance over to where his laptop sat on the floor, desperately searching for an out before tossing himself over the rim of a conversational volcano, “Uh, um, I made a lot of headway on that portable computer today!”

“Oh, you did? Well, that’s great! Have you tried seein’ if anyone up there is interested in the idea?”

“No, not really, yet, but I should! Anyway, I won’t keep you. I’d better get going-“

“I called you, silly.”

Fiddleford cleared his throat awkwardly, “Right. Well, I don’t want to rack up the phone bill for you, and I still wanted to finish up a few things tonight. Besides, you know Ford, he likes to start early – feels like the farm all over again, heheh!”

“Alright, I suppose.” Emma-May pursed her lips, unable to shake the sense that something was decidedly off.

“I’ll talk longer soon, I promise.” He reassured, “There’s just a lot goin’ on right now.”

“I know, but you hardly even told me about your campin’ trip last time!”

“I’ll, er, I’ll tell you more about it later, but it was fun!” His mind drifted again to Tate, the memory gun, Ford’s chiding, “Oh, sugar, quick question?”

“Hm?”

“Tate’s birthday is July 7, right?”

“Um, yes? You asked me that last time, too. What’s goin’ on?”

Fiddleford paled.  _ I did?  _ “I just wanted to make sure I’m recallin’ right.”

Emma-May was only growing more perplexed, “Since when was rememberin’ anythin’,  _ especially  _ numbers or anythin’ even  _ remotely  _ related to Tate, an issue for you? Did you hit your head?”

“Very well could have, and I ain’t been sleepin’ well. Arm hurts and all. My head’s been in a real fog with all that, but I better take off, here. I’m fine, I promise! And Stanferd says hi!”

“Well, say hello to him from me, too, I guess. Maybe go play him a tune to settle down. You know, it’s weirdly quiet without you around. Kinda nice. Heheh, kiddin’! I’m kiddin’! Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Oh, hush. I’m just sayin’ that there’s a stark lack of, well, banjo. And singin’. And smackin’ around on everythin’. And spoons clatterin’. And ratchets. I think I went my first few headache-less weeks since we got married, and I’m still surprised when all I hear is cars n’ birds in the mornin’.”

In spite of her jovial tone, this sudden turn in the conversation stung. He forced himself to laugh with her, “You’re silly, you know? I hope you mean that you miss all that!”

It at least kept him on the line a little bit longer, though she still couldn’t gauge just what felt so off kilter in his voice, “Hey, now, I do miss you playin’ for us, n’ you’re a lot better at singin’ Tate to sleep than I am. The spoons and endless tunin’ I don’t miss, though, so give my condolences to Ford.”

Fiddleford let out a shaky sigh, “Heheh, right, right… Well, I love you. Tell Tate I love him, too, and give him a kiss for me in the mornin’, okay?”

“Alright. I love you, too. You know I always do, and Tate loves you, too. ‘Night, hun.”

“Goodnight, Em.”

Fiddleford heaved another sigh, tugging at his hair and trying to steady his breath enough to ignore the way his heart was thrumming. He needed something to focus on, some way to figure this out. He sat down to try and finish the modifications he had planned for his laptop, but the onslaught of worried thoughts wouldn’t cease.

What would she think?

Would she tell? Did he even need to tell her the whole truth?

He shook his head. Of course he did. She was too good for anything less. He bit at his nails and tugged hard on his bangs, mind racing faster. He tried to reign himself in and focus by picking up his soldering iron.

What if she told anyone else? It couldn’t possibly go well as it were, but in these circumstances it’d take one fell swoop to sever him from everything he knew and worked for, and Ford was likely to be brought crashing down with him.

She wouldn’t tell, would she?

He realized that as much as he’d put his trust in her over the decades, he wasn’t sure. It was the one thing he held back, more of a result of hiding from himself than purposefully hiding from her. He berated himself for letting go of his self control. He’d kept it together so well for all these weeks, so why did he crack now? The heavy epiphany of the feelings he buried was forcefully rationalized, excused away, and bluntly ignored since his long drive up to nowhere, Oregon, and maybe even since Ford had called on him.

He tightened his grip on the soldering iron. He hadn’t done a thing to the laptop since sitting down again and stared numbly at it, shifting the soldering iron around in his hand. If he lost Emma-May, he was sure he’d lose her friendship, too. That thought alone felt like an awful, choking black cloud, even barring the more catastrophic consequences he could bring down on himself.

More than himself, he wondered about her, and how it would reflect on her if even a whisper of this got out. What about Tate? What would become of his son?

The thought alone could suffocate him. He could take being disowned by his family. He could take losing his chances at a good career. He could handle being stripped of anywhere to call home. He could even survive losing his closest friends, but he couldn’t deal with losing Tate.

He snarled harshly under his breath. His thoughts were going nowhere but a chaotic, terrified, guilty spiral. He didn’t know who he was even kidding at this point. Things were already not going all that smoothly at home before he left, but, for now, they did seem to be getting better.

For now.

He grit his teeth with a disgruntled noise and gave up on his laptop updates, reluctantly replacing the backboard and patting out a count on his knees to ensure he still had all the screws together. He found one missing, muttered a curse, and put in the ones he could find. Unsatisfied, he got to his feet and padded quickly out of the room, struggling all the while to keep his hand from his hair. He figured a shower might help. Maybe he could crank the water so hot it’d burn these thoughts away or somehow purify him. Maybe it’d straight up melt him.

He didn’t even hear the water already running when he roughly shouldered his way into the bathroom, already tugging his shirt off and continuing to mutter to himself. He froze.

Ford had poked his head out, “Uh, hi? How’s…how’s your wife? Heh.”

Fiddleford blanched. Upon further consideration, it was odd that Ford didn’t seem to be more concerned about Emma-May. He knew Ford hated a liar. He swallowed hard, “Fine. I need to boil my skin off right now.”

“S-sure?”

“Well, are you gonna get out?”

“I don’t see wh-“

“I ain’t gettin’ in with you!”

Ford shrugged, “Um, alright. Let me rinse my hair out.”

Fiddleford held his breath when Ford stepped out and averted his eyes as he skittishly hurried past him. Ford cast a curious glance over at him as he grabbed his towel and raised an eyebrow. He heard Fiddleford let out a choked gasp.

“Fiddleford, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean  _ what’s goin’ on _ , isn’t it obvious?! I know you can be oblivious, but don’t play a fool on me now!”

Ford cocked his head, leaning back against the sink, “Is it Emma-May?”

“Yes, and you!”

Ford brought a hand to his mouth, biting at it, “Yeah. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“I shouldn’t have, either! It’s just…it was, it was like old times and,” Fiddleford faltered, “Who am I kiddin’? It all came rushin’ back the second you asked me up here. I knew I was hopin’ for this in the way back of my head, like a damn fool.”

“Admittedly, I think it’s the same for me. Well, I don’t…think it ever really went away. I mean, I tried to date a siren. How stupid is that? And then, when I saw you again it kind of felt like an anvil fell on my head.”

“Yeah, I know, because it felt the same for me! Do you have any idea how hard I was tryin’ not to kiss you when you let me hug you again?”

“No, but I was trying not to, too.”

A pause drifted between them, only the nervous hiss of the water filling the room and fogging the mirror.

Ford spoke again, “How is everything with Emma-May, out of curiosity? You haven’t been calling her much since you got here, have you?”

Fiddleford heaved a sigh, letting the water run down his bangs and over his face, “Fine. Well, maybe not. I know I told you about it before, but we’d been bickerin’ a lot, so, even outside of all of this, I figured it’d be good for us to have some space.” he paused to draw another difficult breath, “She said she finally hasn’t had headaches. She played it like she was jokin’, but I’m worried she wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I said. I don’t know how else to clarify that.”

Ford waited.

Fiddleford huffed, knowing Ford was trying to prompt him to continue, “I don’t think it was goin’ anywhere like we thought it would. It was such a quick decision, even if we’ve known each other so long. I know she loves me, and I love her, too, but if I’m bein’ honest with myself I don’t know if I love her the same. But...” he let his forehead thunk against the tile defeatedly, “What about Tate? That’d be so hard on him, and now because we tried too long to make it all work, I went and screwed it up worse. Exponentially worse.”

“So-“

Fiddleford barrelled on, “Stanferd, you don’t understand. I don’t want to leave her, really, I mean, I care. I want to provide for her and Tate, and I couldn’t bring any shame on her. She’s such a wonderful woman, and now I’ve… I need to do something, eventually. It’s still a conversation I’d rather have face to face. I feel like I at least owe her that.”

Ford froze, heart dropping, “Fiddleford, you’re not leaving so soon, are you?”

Fiddleford straightened up, finally deciding he may as well wash his hair while he could, “No, no, ‘course not. I think I need more time to decide how exactly to handle this, anyway. I want to see this project through with you, even if it isn’t easy. Like you said, we’re goin’ to change the world, aren’t we?”

Ford relaxed slightly, “Okay. You had me going, there! Heheh,”

“I just hope this doesn’t fall apart, too.”

Ford raised an eyebrow, “Huh?”

“Failure happens, and it seems like everythin’ else is goin’ wrong.”

“Don’t say that. We’re going to make it work, we’ve already made so much progress!”

“We’ll do our damndest, at the very least.” 

“We’re going to do it.”

Fiddleford smiled weakly at Ford’s resolute affect, “I really do need your kind of encouragement and gumption right now. Tell me though, what do you think? About this whole situation.”

“The portal?”

“No. The other thing. That I’m kind of sneakin’ around with you, now.”

Ford rubbed at his neck, “Well, it’s not like that’s new, exactly,”

“You know what I mean, Stanferd. I know you never respected a liar or a cheat, and now I am one. You must think real low of me, and don’t get me wrong, I completely deserve it.”

Ford tensed, a rush of apprehension and a pang of guilt taking hold of him, “The way I see it, um…circumstances matter. Remember when we used to joke about what our families would do to us if they knew? And now we’re on the verge of doing some really amazing, trailblazing things. I hate to say it, but appearances are going to matter.”

“I know.”

“And, well, I know it’s not ideal, but we all have secrets.” Those last words came with effort, the thought of Bill flitting through his mind. Ford turned to take a quick drink from the sink and pat a bit of cool water over his face, “Some things just have to be hidden for awhile, or unfortunately, forever, in order for us to be successful or happy.”

Fiddleford mulled this over and ran his fingers through his hair, working the water through it. He managed to hold back and not pull at it in spite of the stress. He knew Ford made a solid point, but something about it left a strange and uneasy feeling behind. 


	21. A Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pretty weighty couple of conversations between Fidds and Emma-May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already no good at writing relationship drama (particularly where infidelity is concerned. It's not a topic I usually tackle...actually I never have before! So this is new and pretty heavy), so this was especially difficult to parse out but here we are, and I tried. It was pretty tricky to decide how this would all play out but Fidds strikes me as the sort who would come clean to someone as close to him as Emma (at least as far as my headcanons for their entire history and all go), and at least my version of Emma seems like the kind of person who keeps it together well under pressure and will try her best to be empathetic without being necessarily forgiving. Very much a "start no shit but take no shit" sort, yanno?  
> This is a rough time for both of them and Emma's got a difficult conversation to have with Tate now, too.

“Uh, E-Emma-May?”

“Fiddleford, is that you?”

“Yes, ma’am. How is home?”

“Aw, well hi, hun! It’s good. Tate’s been pretty well behaved this week, but he’s always askin’ after you and lookin’ at pictures of you. I think he’s been missin’ you a lot. Not much goin’ on, for better or worse, but I did get that one skirt mended that I’d been talkin’ about far longer than I ought to ever have. How’s Oregon? Is it gettin’ chilly there yet?”

“I miss him, too. It’s chilly to me, at least. Stanferd doesn’t seem terribly fazed.”

“Figures.”

“Yeah, but with all those sweaters he’s got, I’m sure those help.”

“Mm… How’s the work going?”

“Great! It’s really comin’ along, actually. Me n’ Stanferd have always been a good team, though.”

“Oh, trust me. From the couple times I saw you two together, I know.”

A pit settled in Fiddleford’s stomach, “Well, uh, hey, Emma-May, sweetie, you got a…” he shot a quick look around the room, “You got a little while to talk?”

Emma-May grinned broadly, “Well, of course! You’re always dartin’ off so quick I feel like I hardly get to breathe a word when I call.”

“Yeah,” Fiddleford laughed uneasily, “It’s been busy here. Say, is that Tate in the background?”

“Yup, he just came in. Want me to put him on now?”

“Please, please.”

“Alright, one second. Hey, Tate, c’mere. Dangit, yer gettin’ big! Daddy wants to say hi, alright? You wanna say hi to him?”

There was some muffled babbling and crackling of little hands fussing with the phone.

Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile excitedly, “Hi, Tate! Can you hear me? It’s your daddy!”

“Hiiii!” Tate singsonged softly.

“How are you?”

“Good,” Tate chirped, “When’re you comin’ home?”

Fiddleford chewed at his lip, “Shoot, hun. Soon, okay? We got lots of work to do up here, but promise I’ll see you sooner’n you can say sassafras, alright?”

“Yeah! Sass’fras!”

“Woah, too quick!”

Not to be bested, Tate dragged it out in a determined monotone this time, “Saaaaaaaaaaaas’fraaaaass!”

Fiddleford broke into a laugh, “Too smart for me. Patience is a virtue, though, ‘member? You still listenin’? Daddy loves you, alright? Moon and back.”

Emma-May cut in again, “Oh, he started hidin’ his face now-“

Tate’s voice was barely perceptible. “-am not-“

“-But he’s smilin’ real big. Tate, you gonna say bye to daddy or just be all shy? This kid…”

“He was never much of a talker. It’s alright. Hey, bud, you still on the phone? Well, alright, then. Later, Tater.” Fiddleford laughed.

Emma-May snorted, “He waved. Tate, honey, he can’t see you wavin’. Oh, well… Okay, I’ll let you down, just a second! He ran off but he did that whisper yell thing he does n’ says he loves you, too. Heheh! Anyway, what didja wanna talk about? Are you feelin’ better than last time?”

Fiddleford felt the words stop like a cold knot in his throat. He swallowed hard, “Yeah, I-I’m fine. I, um, we don’t have to talk about anythin’ in particular. I just wanted to hear from you n’ Tate. How’s work? Are the neighbors stoppin’ by any?”

“It’s been busy, but I’m gettin’ on alright. Heard I might even be up for a raise next week, or so I hope! Lord knows kids ain’t gettin’ any cheaper.”

“Keep at it. I can send some money down soon, too. Ford was able to start payin’ me a little bit off the grant.”

“That’d be nice, if you could. Thanks, hun. Anyway, Leroy stopped by the other day with his girl. We might try and get a game night goin’ here sometime. Betty next door is pompous as ever. Sheesh! Don’t know where her high horse rode in from but I’d have half a mind to shoot the damn thing just bring her down to earth, pardon me.”

“I’m definitely not complainin’ about bein far away from her!”

“Right? She even had some snide comments to make about you the other day. Somethin’ about how it’s wild you’re ‘ _ puttin’ someone else’s work ahead of your own and your family _ ’, and that you’re probably doin’ ‘ _ God knows what _ ’ with your buddy in the woods. Ridiculous! I got half a mind to glue her mouth shut for her, but either way she’ll be pickin’ her jaw up off the ground once she sees what you’n Pines get outta this. Goodness. And she even pretends to know more about cars than Leroy because she changed her oil  _ once _ . Whup tee do!”

Fiddleford froze, “I, haha…that Betty Lawson, huh? And what is she on about? Leroy’s a mechanic! Bless her vile little heart. Say, um, could you call back once you get Tate to bed tonight?”

“Oh? I could. Why?”

Another crash of conflict hit him at the playful note in her voice, “Just, aheh, you know. Finally have a chance to talk. And be sure you’re alone. I don’t mind the charges if it gets to be long.”

Emma-May snickered, blushing, “Why, you rascal!”

He ran his hand through his hair, tugging a bit at his bangs, “Well, um, I think Stanferd just got back from town, so I better go. I’ll… I’ll talk to you tonight, okay, darlin’? Love you.”

“Love you, too. Talk in a few hours.”

Fiddleford drew a shaky breath as he clicked the phone down, muttering a curse and knotting his fingers in his hair. 

“McGucket speaking.”

“Hi, Fiddleford, I just made sure Tate’s asleep,” Emma-May giggled, “Sorry for it bein’ so late. He was real keen on readin’ for awhile. You got dominion over the phone? Where’s Stanferd?”

“Surprisingly, he passed out reading in the other room already.”

“Heheh, good, cuz-“

Fiddleford sucked down a nervous breath and cut her off, “-Emma-May, I really need to talk to you about somethin’. Somethin’ rather serious.”

Emma-May stiffened, “Huh? Well, what is it? Is everythin’ alright up there?”

“…I don’t know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is Stanferd bein’ a hardass on you? Is that what you were soundin’ so weird for?”

“Oh, you know us bein’ hard on each other is a permanent back and forth. But… kind of. Emma-May, I…” his voice caught dry in his throat, “One second, hun. I need some water.”

“O-okay. I’ll stay on the line.”

Fiddleford padded off to the kitchen to fetch a glass. He shuddered as he let the water run, a million thoughts racing by at doubletime. How on earth was he supposed to say this? It was even harder to bring up now, right when it felt like things were stabilizing with her. He steeled himself against the sickening feeling that threatened to overwhelm him. Emma-May had been his friend for nearly his entire life, and for that he knew he owed her at least a semblance of honesty. No. Not a semblance. As his wife, she deserved the whole truth. He’d lied by omission enough and wanted to smack himself stupid for it right now. He took a long drink on his way back and finally brought the phone back to his ear after a moment of hesitation, “Are you still there?”

“Yes, of course. So…what’s goin’ on?”

The soft worry in her voice was almost enough to break him, “I have to be honest with you. Now listen, I love you more than I could ever properly express. I love our family. I’d do anything for you and Tate, anytime, forever, eternally, no questions asked, but… the truth is,” he swallowed hard, hands shaking, “I still have feelings for Stanferd. I-“

Emma-May felt the color drain from her face, “Wait, what?  _ Still _ ?! What are you on about?”

“-Em, hold on. Please let me explain. I, er, I did in college too, er, had feelings for him. It was before you and I started goin’ together again. I just figured it was some weird phase from the stress of school, and, well, when I got up here it all just came flooding back. I knew I’d been denying it, and I think…I think, deep in my heart, I always knew. I just kept pretending it wasn’t there, that I didn’t feel that way to make it easier for everyone, but mostly to make it easier for myself. If I’m coming completely clean, I even… When he came own for our wedding, I felt a little weird. Seein’ him again was bizarre, and then…” he sighed heavily, “…the first day I got up here we almost kissed. We joked about it, and it didn’t happen again. Okay, well, not for some time, and then we did when we were camping. That’s when I knew I couldn’t run from it anymore. And, um, the other night, I think we almost slept with each other. I don’t… hell, Emma-May, I’m so sorry. I should have said somethin’ to you far sooner. I did wrong by you, and you’re a good woman. A wonderful woman. And I do really love you, but…I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

Silence.

“Emma-May? Em, please tell me you’re still on the line.”

“I’m here.” Her voice came soft, a certain brand of terse confusion in her tone, “So…you’re sayin’ you’ve been sweet on Stanferd this whole time? You’re into men, and he feels the same?”

Fiddleford could barely hear over the terrified rush of blood and ringing in his ears, hands sweaty and heart hammering, “…y-yes, ma’am. Sorry. Can…can you please not tell anyone back home? They’d have me skinned alive.”

“They’d skin you for cheatin’ on me and lyin’ to me in general, too, so what’s the difference, even?”

“Yeah, and I deserve that. But I’ll handle it. Promise. Just don’t…please, please don’t tell anyone…at least not the specifics, okay? Please.”

The conflicted pause from Emma-May felt like it dragged on for a terrible eternity, “Okay. I won’t. I promise.”

“Thank you so much.” There still wasn’t relief. It was too much and Fiddleford’s voice cracked into a barely muffled sob, “God, baby, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be callin’ me baby right after layin’ all this on me.” Emma-May’s voice was now a steady, scathing monotone, “I still don’t understand. I should’ve known somethin’ was wrong. You actin’ like you didn’t even know Tate’s birthday? Trippin’ over your words? Barely talkin’? None of it makes sense, even after you tell me this.”

“I-“ Fiddleford fumbled, trying to figure out how to proceed. Would it be worth just spilling everything on his conscience to her? Telling her about the memory gun?

“-Why’d you even go with me, then, or ask me to marry you?!”

Those thoughts buckled and fell away, “I…I thought the feelings would come, since we’d been so close for so long and I cared so much for you. You were the logical choice, you know? And it’s just what a man does, right? He finds a nice wife, settles down, starts a family, provides for them and all that. It’s expectations and I’d rather it be with you than with anyone else. You even moved all the way out to California, what was I supposed to do?”

Emma-May sighed into the phone, wringing the wire nervously in her hands, “I  _ guess _ , but I’m not here to fulfill expectations. I’ve been in love with you for  _ years _ , Fiddleford…” she broke off with a ragged breath and a barely stifled sniffle, “I thought you loved me. I thought you trusted me.”

“Oh, Emma-May, I do-“

“Apparently not, or you coulda told me well before any…any of  _ this _ .”

“I know, I know, I screwed up…I got scared, and I guess I had myself less sorted out than I thought… but it’s…”

“I know, but what about Tate?! He’s hardly five! How am I gonna explain this?!”

“You don’t have to. I want to-“

“I know what you’re gonna say and no, no- you’ve forfeited that chance, you just damn forfeited this marriage.”

“Em, please, I don’t want to lose Tate. I’d do anything. If you never want to speak to me again, well, alright, I can survive that. I don’t want to, but I can, and I understand. But no matter what, no matter how much you hate me, I want to be there for our son. So… please.”

There was another brief pause before she spoke again, “Y’know, I don’t know. I’ll think on it. Havin’ a dad is important, but how am I supposed to get on tellin’ him his daddy’s a liar and a cheat who ditched both of us for some old lover of his, and a man at that?!”

That stung. “We weren’t-“

“Fiddleford.”

“Okay, okay. We had something. Years ago in college. Short and sweet. Gave it up when I came out to Palo Alto and he was still finishing his doctorate. Had to change priorities.”

Emma-May grit her teeth, “Fiddleford, I really hoped you were gonna deny that. You broke up with me so you could go focus on school, and then you just go ahead and start goin’ with some guy?! And, heck, you even gave him the same excuse you gave me leavin’ him, too. Figures. I expected better of you.”

“It was a mutual agreement, Em.”

“I got another question. Didja sleep with him then?”

A sigh, “…yes.”

Emma-May blazed with indignance, “And never told me once?! You tell me in detail about every girl you ever ran with for more than five seconds and not about him?”

Fiddleford tapped his foot on the hardwood uneasily, “It’s just, it’s…it’s different. Kinda shameful to most folks and all. I didn’t think you’d understand. Honestly, I was expecting you to be far angrier with me.”

“Just ‘cuz I can keep my composure doesn’t mean a damn thing. I’m  _ furious  _ with you. I’m…I’m heartbroken, and confused, and betrayed, but…” she drew a quivering breath, wringing the phone cord so tight her fingers went red and white, “I think somewhere in the back of my head I might have had a hunch. I should have asked you a long time ago.”

“I likely wouldn’t have told you. Either way, I wouldn’t have admitted it to myself yet, or…you know. Gossip gets around.”

“It sure does.”

“And that’s the part that makes me so scared. If you do even one thing for me, even if I don’t deserve it, please, please don’t tell anyone back home. No matter what.”

Emma-May shifted her weight, wiping her nose on her sleeve, “Okay.”

“So,” Fiddleford hesitated, trying to blink away the tears stinging at his eyes, “Now what?”

“We’re done, I guess. I can get to handling it.”

The cold businesslike affect in her voice cut through him like a blade. Grim resignation took him, “Okay.”

“God bless you, Fiddleford.”

“I’m sorry it turned out like this. Are you su-“

“Goodnight.”

“Alright. Goodnight. Can you please give Tate a kiss from me in the morning?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then a click.

Fiddleford bit down on his hand, body wracked with a sob.

Emma-May wasn’t sure how long she stood by the phone, blankly staring into the middle distance.

Something about it felt inevitable, like a thunderstorm hitting a mountain and dumping all its rain in fury only to dissipate over the hills, silent as if it never was.


	22. Stuck between hope and doubt...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...It's too much to figure out~ 
> 
> It's been a long week, and smoke breaks and stargazing from the porch are good times for focusing on a bright future ahead. Or, trying to, at least - sometimes fresh wounds are accidentally, and brutally, reopened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter for now  
> These boys are both digging themselves deeper by the day, huh? Communication is key, kids.
> 
> I've also had "Statistician's Blues" stuck in my head for nearly a week now.

Fiddleford pulled his jacket closer around himself against the chill of the night, the boards of the porch steps creaking a bit as he shifted his weight. Ford took his cigarette from his lips and glanced over at Fiddleford, studying the way the fire from his lighter sparked and illuminated his face. Fiddleford pocketed the lighter again and sat back, taking a drag on his own cigarette. Ford’s gaze flickered up to the stars, an almost habitual motion – it was impossible for him to not glance up in admiration, and while the sight of the stars and silver-lined clouds drifting in front of them sent that same familiar surge of energy through him, he noticed Fiddleford didn’t seem to be sharing in the calm. He, too, was staring up into the sky, but with a decidedly uneasy and unsure look in his eyes, something almost listless about him. It was strange and oddly unnerving. Something told Ford not to prod.

Fiddleford let out a sigh, twisting the cigarette in his fingers after a nervous, scanning look through the trees before returning to look at the crescent of the moon as it poked out from behind the clouds for a fleeting moment before disappearing again.

Ford caved to his curiosity, “Something on your mind?”

“You.”

“Oh.” Ford blushed, looking away shyly.

“I wish this didn’t have to be some whole secret. We’ve gone and made quite a mess, haven’t we?”

Ford shrugged, starting to share in the unease, “Well, yes. These are…less than ideal circumstances – but right now, things are good, aren’t they?”

It was Fiddleford’s turn to shrug, “It feels like a ten ton weight is loomin’ over us. What about when this project is over? Then what?”

Ford hadn’t thought much about that, “Well, maybe by then we’ll be able to secure enough funding to keep working up here. Together. If that’s what you want. I mean, I’d like that.”

The prospect sounded nice. Dreamy, even, but lovely and desirable as it was, it didn’t take away the nagging melancholy holding a grip on Fiddleford, “That sounds nice. Heh, what else have I got to lose?”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind that. I’m just in one of those moods tonight.” Fiddleford backpedaled and took a long drag off his cigarette, “What do you reckon that’d look like?”

Ford couldn’t keep his smile down, mind going a mile a minute as he ran through the possibilities, “We could get new, high-quality equipment for the lab. Honestly, we’d be better off with you inventing most of it, heh… We’d be able to go explore strange new worlds together, and get in and out of trouble and danger, forging new paths for humanity and who knows what else?”

“You never lost that whole swashbuckler thing, did you?” The sheer excitement playing over Ford’s face left soft admiration settling in Fiddleford’s chest. Maybe things could be okay. 

“I…I guess not,” Ford wrung his hands, shoving away a pesky thought of Stanley, “We’ll be famous! We’ll be keynote speakers at conferences. Our faces will be in the history books. I mean, just imagine Tate getting to brag about his dad like that-“

Fiddleford coughed, making a show of it as an excuse to bury his face in his sleeve. That mention of Tate was enough to overwhelm him in one fell swoop. He sucked down a shaky breath and wiped away the stinging tears that came to prick at his eyes, “Y-yeah, huh?”

“Are you alright, Fidds?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just miss him is all.”

“You get used to missing people. At least you won’t have to miss him forever.”

That was enough. Fiddleford snapped, roughly crushing his cigarette into the wood of the porch before getting to his feet to make a purposeful beeline back inside. The screen door screeched and clattered shut behind him.

Ford stared after him, baffled. He took one last drag off his cigarette and put it out, wondering what kind of nerve he’d just struck. Fiddleford had been unusually moody lately, after all, and though he’d chalked it up to general stress and a few engineering roadblocks they’d run into as of late, it was cause for concern. Though he hesitated momentarily, Ford got up and went after him.

He found Fiddleford in the basement, hunched over a sprawl of notes he was focused intently on.

“Fiddleford?”

Fiddleford didn’t respond. Ford paused, watching him for a moment, then gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

Fiddleford jolted, “Huh? What?”

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, I just, I remembered some things I needed to check. It’s fine.”

Ford accepted this for now, albeit skeptically so, “That’s all? I’m relieved. I was worried that you were upset.”

“I am, but it’s mostly that I’m tired and gettin’ stressed. I’m worried about findin’ the right materials for a few parts we’ll be needing to make soon, here.” It was half true, at least. 

“Fancy another trip to Crash Site Omega?” Ford offered with a cheerful wink. He glanced down to get a better look at what Fiddleford had been working on, eyes catching on a sheet of paper sticking out from the stack with an official-looking letterhead at the top that he swore read  _ Santa Clara County _ -, but almost as quickly as his gaze fell on it, Fiddleford shifted his notes up to keep writing, covering the sheet in the process.

Fiddleford settled back in his chair, putting an arm over the back of it and studied Ford’s face, tense as a rabbit, “Er, perhaps. We might need to go back there soon to get more supplies. I wouldn’t argue with gettin’ some more notes down about their writing system, and you could try n’ trap some plaidypuses at that stream on the way again. I don’t recall if you mentioned it, but did you mark any on your last trip?”

Ford huffed a sigh, eyebrows knit in grim frustration as he recalled the last plaidypus capture attempt, or rather, fiasco, “No. I think having extra hands would be helpful, and I need to rethink my methods…in more ways than one, unfortunately.”

“I might have some ideas for you, let’s talk it over.”

“Excellent! However, I’m more curious about the next steps for the portal, first. We need to be prioritizing if we want to stay on schedule. Let’s make a list of what we need to be looking for at CSO, and why don’t we gun to make a trip out there on Thursday?” 

Fiddleford breathed a sigh of relief, though he really hoped Ford would get overzealous on planning and give him a bit of space before he broke in front of him. Crisis averted - for now.


	23. To Study The Plaidypus (And Your Partner)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noticing Ford has been acting a little off in the past few weeks, Fiddleford sets out to get him back to his field research roots while the two make another trek to Crash Site Omega for materials.

“Remind me, what was the issue last time?” Fiddleford inquired, relieved to finally set his pack down. He stretched out with an audible crack from his back that had Ford wincing.

Ford began sorting out their supplies, handing a headlamp to Fiddleford, “I tried snares that I set along the streambank. As it turns out, that wasn’t the best method. I did capture two and tried to put a radio collar on one, but no surprise, it slipped it less than a minute after I’d fitted it. I got too caught up in the excitement, and I neglected to consider their body proportions…”

“Right, right, you told me as much,” Fiddleford snickered, “Well, you’re in luck. Remember how I said I had an idea for ya?”

Ford raised an eyebrow, “Do tell.”

Fiddleford dug through his pack and retrieved a small box that he opened to reveal a set of tiny transmitters, each one no larger than a stack of a few quarters, “I whipped us up a nifty solution. I managed to make some real itty-bitty transmitters! We should be able to pop ‘em onto the plaidypuses with a little adhesive and they’ll work like a charm. The frequencies are already set and I numbered each of these, and I have the numbers and the corresponding frequencies listed in my notebook. You should be able to get a good signal off these from about a quarter mile off, maybe a half mile if you’re lucky. Wanna give it a try?”

Ford blinked, grinning broadly, “Incredible! How did you manage this? They’re so small!”

Fiddleford let out a nervous giggle, “Bein’ a ham with an interest in tinkerin’ with radio technology has its benefits sometimes.”

Ford rubbed at his chin, “It seems it does. This could give us far more detailed data than the mere mark-recapture study I was planning on. My only worry is setting up a schedule to triangulate points for the tagged individuals. It’s a lot of extra effort, and we have our hands full enough with the portal.”

Fiddleford made a face for a fleeting moment. Ford  _ not  _ immediately chomping at the bit for data of any kind was strange. The portal was a daunting effort indeed, but it certainly wasn’t going anywhere, and last he recalled Ford was the poster child for ‘biting off more than you can chew’ and then promptly chewing it. “How often would you want a point on each one?”

Ford gave a little shrug, “It depends. Maybe once a week for each tagged plaidypus? For coarse data at least. More often would be nice, but I don’t even know when they’re most active. I’m only making an educated guess based on when we saw that first one, what local legends say, and what  _ platypuses _ do. That said, here’s hoping these guesses are educated enough, or else I’ve dragged you out on a late-night endeavor for little reason.”

Fiddleford ran his hands through his bangs but smiled earnestly at Ford, “As much as I’m unsettled by these woods in the dark, it’s been awhile since we’ve been out late together. I rather miss it. So, do you want to fit them with the transmitters, then?”

Ford huffed, mulling this over with significant difficulty, “Our focus really needs to be on the portal right now…”

“C’mon, hun, you were ravin’ for hours about all the things you wanted to learn about these critters once you confirmed they’re real!”

“You do make a convincing argument. Suppose we do find their home dimension when the portal is completed, it  _ would  _ be interesting to compare their space use habits and movements between here and there, and those could be some important insights to have. Well, alright. We’ll  _ try  _ to get points on them at least weekly. I suppose I could just roll tracking opportunities in with the hiking I already do, and any of the further trips we’re bound to make to Crash Site Omega.”

Fiddleford stared at him, unimpressed.

“I know, I know, it’s not rigorous!” Ford conceded, “But it’s a start. How long will these transmitters last?”

Fiddleford adjusted his glasses, “Hm, I figure about a couple years if we’re lucky.”

“Really?” Ford’s eyes widened in equal parts awe and excitement, “Excellent work, Fiddleford! You absolutely must show me the design later.”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but blush between the compliment and the thrilled look on Ford’s face. It was reassuring to see that familiar life-filled spark flash through his brown eyes, and it always steadied him and had him falling face first in love all over again without fail, “Heh, it really wasn’t much. But I’ll show you, no problem!”

“Wonderful. In exchange, I need your help with these nets. Let’s get them set up in the stream.” 

“And then what?”

“We wait!” 

It was a strenuous enough effort to successfully set the fyke nets, and the process came with a fair amount of good-natured bickering and a brief lament from Ford over having skimped on the ill-fitting hip boots he invested in. After setting the last net, the pair headed off from the streambank and up to the small, impromptu camp they’d set up to wait. The light of the fire there abated some of Fiddleford’s jitters at being in the now inky-black forest. That was, it did until he saw  _ another  _ fire. Worse, it was clearly moving.

He trailed off and froze mid-sentence, in the middle of hashing plans for the next steps of the portal’s construction, “…Stanferd, is that a fire?”

Ford looked in the direction he indicated, “Appears to be.”

“And, am I just tired, or did it move? As in, did it just  _ run _ ?”

Ford continued to scrutinize the flame through the trees, “You’re correct.” He glanced to see Fiddleford’s eyes snap wide in concern and flashed him his most charming grin, “Not to worry! I’m betting you that’s a scampfire!”

“You’re tellin’ me not to worry about a fire that runs like some kinda animal?! Not only is that unnerving, but doesn’t it strike you as a serious wildfire risk around here?”

Ford didn’t have a clear answer to that and shrugged, “Good question. I’m unsure. I’ve had a few encounters with these little guys before, though – they’re fairly docile and don’t approach often. It might want some of our food, though. I’ve found they really enjoy marshmallows, but if they get bothersome they’re easy to shoo off.”

Fiddleford blinked a few times, then shook his head briefly, realizing there was little point in being shocked by anything around here anymore, “Well, I’ll be darned.”

Ford let out a good-natured chuckle as he stoked their own fire, “That about sums up my own reaction when I first saw them. Hey, it’s about time we check our nets now, isn’t it?”

Fiddleford confirmed this with a quick glance to his watch and a nod, “Just about. Shall we gear up and head down?”

Ford was already on his feet again, excited to hurry down and check the nets. He hoped Fiddleford didn’t notice the three times he nearly tripped while trying to simultaneoulsy walk and pull on his hip boots, but he knew nothing got past Fiddleford Hadron McGucket and the mechanic’s stifled chuckle behind him told him as much.

Ford adjusted his headlamp as they made their approach, eyes lighting up when he noticed some turbulence in the water, “Fiddleford, come quick! I think we got one!”

Fiddleford was close at his heels, adjusting his pack on his shoulders, “Really? That’s great! Let’s get ‘em on out!”

“Way ahead of you. Wait – there’s two! We got two!”

An enormous grin broke out over Fiddleford’s face at that familiar, jubilant tone in Ford’s voice. He hustled over to look, but Ford was already sloshing into the water and setting to work.

“Fidds, here, give me a hand and help me pull this up a bit. No, no, off to the left a little more, by the rocks – yes, there! Alright, can you open up the net while I get ready to grab the first one? Make sure you close it immediately after I get this one out.” Ford looked up to exchange a determined nod with Fiddleford while he opened the net. Ford’s reflexes were quick, but the plaidypus was quicker, and it wriggled right through his hands and took off down the stream. Ford swore under his breath, on his feet in a flash to take a few hurried, splashing steps after it, but realized it was futile. With a sigh, he slogged back over and returned his attention to the net.

Fiddleford did his best to be reassuring, “We’ll get this one, hun, don’t worry. You ready?”

Ford nodded, eyes locked on the little plaidypus in the end of the fyke net. He could have almost sworn it was making a bet with him about its odds of evading processing and made a solemn mental vow to win, “Ready.”

Fiddleford opened up the net. Ford managed to secure the plaidypus and pull it out against its soft  _ chrr-chrr  _ protests. After a moment of ineffective air paddling, the plaidypus paused briefly before suddenly finding its second wind, waiting for just the moment Ford relaxed his grip the slightest bit before thrashing wildly and tumbling from his hands. Ford yelped in surprise, and, not to be bested, lunged after the little creature, promptly slipping on a rock in his mad scramble and careening forward to crash down face-first into the stream. Though thoroughly soaked, he carefully got up and flashed Fiddleford a triumphant grin, holding the plaidypus aloft as water dripped from his dark bangs.

“I got it!!”

Fiddleford laughed, “I can see that! Get ‘im over here, hurry!”

“I hear you, I hear you. Got the transmitter ready?”

“Mhm. Are you still gonna color tag it, too?”

“Well, of course. Length?”

“Ah, looks to be about 49 centimeters.”

Ford nodded sagely as Fiddleford jotted the figure down, “Wonderful. Weight looks like… hey, hey, stop thrashing! It’s alright! 2 kilograms? Call it that. I can see why their pelts would make such good jackets. Feel how soft it is!” he gave Fiddleford a bright look. Fiddleford grinned, stroking its fur gently and cautiously, and Ford couldn’t help but blush watching the wonder crossing his face, “Erm, right. Let’s tag this one and let it be on its way so we can hurry and check the other nets.”

Fiddleford’s smile remained, a soft and affectionate expression. Tonight, this was the Ford he knew, and he was overjoyed to see him being so beautifully himself. Perhaps he’d been worrying over nothing the past few weeks.


	24. This morning over ham sandwiches...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A possible trajectory for the fateful conversation that let to the bunker's inception

Fiddleford fixed Ford in a pensive gaze from across the table and swallowed, “You know, I think we’re neglectin’ somethin’ important, here.”

Ford blinked, still dealing with a mouthful of ham sandwich, “Hm?”

“We’re hopin’ to go  _ in _ , right?”

“Mhm,”

“So, what about whatever we find where the portal leads? Or, more importantly, what if somethin’ comes  _ out _ ?” Fiddleford took another bite of his sandwich, eager and anxious to hear Ford’s response.

Ford paused to mull this over for a moment over a long draught of orange juice, “You know what? I hadn’t even considered that.”  _ Bill had never even brought it up as a possibility, either, come to think of it.  _ It was an embarrassing oversight, to say the least.

Fiddleford huffed in partially feigned exasperation.

“But that’s a good thing to note. You’re right,” Ford grumbled, a little sheepish, “What do you propose?”

Finishing off the last of his first sandwich, Fiddleford spoke again, tone more grave than Ford expected, “I figure we oughta make a space to contain any critters or strange substances we come across.”

“Common sense would agree. We could just construct something in the basement, I suppose?”

“No, no.” Fiddleford dismissed. Ford shrank a bit at that, embarrassed as his mind caught up to where Fiddleford was likely going with this, “I think it’s safer if we’d make a separate space some distance off. You really want to risk some beast clamberin’ around the house in case of a jailbreak?”

“Once again, you do have a point.”

“Thank you. Perhaps we could scope out some spots, maybe… we could make another underground bunker?”

Ford brightened up, noticing the excited flash in Fiddleford’s eyes, “You mean like a secret lair?”

Fiddleford returned his grin earnestly, “Well, it’s serious business and all, but I don’t see why not. It’d be like a movie, huh? And that’s just the icing on the cake. Serious business doesn’t preclude a little fun, like a secret entrance and all that jazz and pomp, right?”

Ford learned forward, hesitation crossing his features despite how enthralling the concept sounded, “Well, sure. This is going to set us back, though, which I hate to do. Additionally, how exactly are we going to contain things? Especially living ones.”

“Freeze ‘em, or somethin’? That oughta be universal, right? Transuniversal, multiuniversal, man, I don’t know. However you wanna call it. Applicable across the board. I think it’s safe to assume atomic motion is atomic motion, plain and simple. And, yeah, it’s gonna set us back, but do you really think we’d be wise to risk gettin’ our faces bitten off by some otherworldly thingamajig? Or causin’ some sorta invasive species disaster beyond human comprehension?”

“I-“

Fiddleford could anticipate his next argument, “Now ain’t the time for too much daring-do, Ford!”

“Alright, alright, you’re correct. Heh. Where would I be without you?”

Fiddleford threw his arm over the back of his chair and leaned back, making a point to take an impassive yet haughty sip of his orange juice, “Dead, I’d reckon.”

Ford struggled to keep down a bemused smile, “Oh, shut it before I make mincemeat out of you!”

“You’d never!”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little heated in the bunker, in more ways than one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a head's up this chapter is mostly gratuitous smut.  
> It's more than that, at its heart, of course, but uh, you understand my point.

“Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, you’re a mad genius,” Ford grinned broadly, eyes glinting with helpless admiration.

Fiddleford shifted self-consciously. Surely it was just the small size of the room that made him feel as if they were much too close together. He swallowed hard and tried to ignore the staticky feeling Ford’s gaze sent through him, “It wasn’t anythin’, really, I was just havin’ fun while tryin’ to take all the logical precautions we can for extradimensional threats and otherwise. Heh! Who else can say they’ve got a real, bonafide secret lair like- mmph!”

He was cut off in surprise by Ford pressing him up against the metal cabinet with a clunk and kissing him roughly. Almost as soon as he registered what was going on enough to reciprocate, Ford broke away with a huff, face flushed as he studied Fiddleford’s flabbergasted expression, “Exactly. Er- I apologize. You just really outdid yourself and when you talk, I- I-“

“Oh, hush.” Fiddleford brought his arms up to card his fingers through Ford’s hair with a mischievous, lopsided grin and pulled him back into a kiss.

It felt bizarrely freeing to finally get go like this. In truth and as much as Fiddleford was loathe to admit it, it was only a matter of time after months of stuttering sequences of yes-no-maybe sos, and as much as he would not admit it, it felt pretty grand to get Ford to actually initiate like this.

It was like switching on a memory when he felt Ford’s hands drift to the buttons of his shirt and slip them open. The temperature in the bunker was enough to give a Tennessee summer a run for its money, anyway, and made losing his shirt a welcome relief. For that matter, what was there left to lose in general? For once, Fiddleford just wanted to be young and dumb and in love again and that possibility felt close enough to grasp. These past few months, for all the trial and tribulation they held, had their silver linings, like the chance to slowly relax and sit more comfortably in the way they felt. Right now, they stumbled against each other, reluctant to separate for even the moment it took for Fiddleford to shove Ford’s shirt up and tug it off of him. He could probably count on his fingers the number of times he’d seen Ford in a t-shirt before, and  _ fuck  _ did his arms look good in one these days, but tossing the pesky fabric aside was plenty thrilling as well. Ford wasted no time before he was on Fiddleford again, humming a soft laugh against his lips as Fiddleford pulled him backwards onto the cheap, rickety bed.

It really had come to feel exceptionally warm down in the bunker, and Fiddleford made a mental note to reroute the cooling system for the cryogenic chambers into makeshift central air and filed it away for later. There were more important matters to attend to right now. He ran his hands over Ford’s back, tilting his head to give Ford better access to kiss and nip down his neck the way he always liked before craning to return the gesture. Fiddleford felt a new rush of heat come to his face, “Heh, shoot, when didja get so forward?”

“You could say I’ve been holding back since you got here.” Ford’s voice was practically a growl against his ear and it sent another electric rush surging down his spine, making his breath hitch hard. Ford sat back on his haunches to get a better look at Fiddleford and brushed his sweat slicked bangs out of the way as he tried to memorize every last detail of the picture before him, “And it doesn’t help matters that it’s terribly sexy to watch you work.”

Fiddleford sputtered out a guffaw, pulling Ford’s glasses off and bending forward to kiss his nose, “I don’t know where this side of you came from, but I’m likin’ it. Just, please tell me you ain’t forcin’ it to make me happy.”

Ford returned the favor, gingerly setting Fiddleford’s glasses aside before nuzzling Fiddleford and returning to kissing along his neck again, “Even if the inclination strikes me quite rarely, I couldn’t fake this if I tried. You know that.”

Fiddleford groaned as Ford let his weight down to grind against him slowly and all too deliberately. They met in another kiss that was broken only by whispers and soft smiles that complemented roving hands. Fiddleford was thoroughly entranced by the sight of Ford hovering over him, eyes fluttering open when Ford pulled away to breathe a nervous laugh and flash a bright grin and sat back, letting his hands drift to Fiddleford’s hips. That look was more typical, more Fordlike, and abated a bit of the nagging twinge of befuddlement he’d been ignoring.

“I, uh- so, can we, uh- I mean, I wouldn’t mind right now-“

Fiddleford stopped him with a nod and ushered Ford’s hands to his belt. He drew a shaky breath. This was happening after all, wasn’t it?

He seriously needed to reroute that cooling system soon.

He watched Ford bashfully struggle with his own pants for a moment, unable to hold back a grin at the nervous glance Ford stole him. Fiddleford was snapped out of his trance with a jolt when Ford practically pounced on him again ten times as ravenously as before, if that were even possible.

Ford couldn’t get enough right now. He’d waited long enough and wrestled long enough with his fickle emotions, starting forward only to hold back again on ridiculous  _ principle _ time and time again since July, and right now the prospect of even a moment of feeling like he could claim Fiddleford as  _ his _ again left his heart skipping. Every little glint in Fiddleford’s eyes when he rambled on about something that enthralled him, that particular sigh he always let out when digging around for a missing tool, everything, everything about him made his breath catch and his world come to a screeching halt.

The sheer brilliance of the ideas that seemed to just come tumbling from him so effortlessly was something that Ford couldn’t wrap his head around or describe as anything other than captivating and beautiful. Ford was certain there was no other human across time or space that could ever be so electrifying to him. It was baffling, confusing, maddening, and wonderful.

While he couldn’t get enough, he was hellbent on getting all he could in pressing their bodies together, tasting the sweat off his neck, drowning in every little sigh he could from him. He could tell Fiddleford was still holding back and murmured against his ear, “We really don’t have to worry about being quiet down here, remember?”

A sheepish nod, “I did soundproof this room, too, actually,” Fiddleford breathed, tightening his arms around Ford and smiling as he was caught in another kiss that he returned with all the ardor that threatened to burst his lungs and shred his heart.

“In that case, I want everything I missed out on when we were stuck in that stupid dorm. Let go.”

Fiddleford let his arms slacken and released him.

Ford chortled at that, nuzzling against Fiddleford’s chest, “No, no, I mean relax. Don’t hold back. I’d really like to see that.”

Fiddleford wanted to damn Ford right then and there for being so effortlessly convincing, running his hands down his sides to settle at his hips. Very well. “Hey, Stanferd?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I say somethin’ rather unbecoming while the heat’s gettin’ to me?”

“Uh-huh,” Ford was genuinely unsure of what to expect next, thoughts racing in an attempt to figure it out. He wasn’t sure what look just flashed over the bright blue of Fiddleford’s eyes, but it held his attention and left him feeling like whatever he said next could just as well be the end of him.

“I want you to fuck me.”

This was easily the crudest Fiddleford had ever been in this situation and Ford was quite sure he’d just been decked in the face hard enough to see stars, “-God, yes, of course. I was going to ask you the same thing. A-are you sure?”

“As I recall, you only got to try once. I’m sure.”

Ford went red to the tips of his ears, the entire Casanova effect he’d managed to keep up so far crashing down like a house of cards, “Heheh! I, um, uh…” he looked around the room nervously, scratching at the back of his head, “I, uh,”

“Well?”

Ford swallowed hard, chest heaving with a deep breath to still himself while looking back at Fiddleford again.  _ Damnit _ . Here he was, a grown man in his thirties left feeling like a flustered, lovestruck schoolboy the second he met Fiddleford’s expectant eyes. He made an absentminded move to tug at his collar, realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt, felt his face get even hotter, and quickly scrambled off the bed to bustle around the room while muttering something or other, possibly a question, about silicone oil and whether they’d brought that hot plate and oil bath down to the observation room. Fiddleford giggled, tracking him with an affectionate gaze when he returned and hoping it wasn’t obvious just how quickly his heart was racing. This was getting a lot more nervewracking than he cared to admit, now that reality was sinking in.

“-this should be just fine,” Ford grumbled, more to himself than to Fiddleford, as he slicked over his cock and scooted forward on his knees, the cheap wood of the bedframe creaking under his weight. His eyes flicked up to lock with Fiddleford’s again and it was enough to make him dizzy, “You really want this?”

It was an earnest question as much as it was a vie to feel wanted, but if the conviction of Fiddleford’s face wasn’t enough, the resolute “Yes.” was. He grazed his hand gently across Ford’s cheek, smiling when he nuzzled into the caress, “You think I haven’t been holdin’ back, too? I’m impatient at this point.”

“I, uh, I can tell, heh,” Ford chuffed, teasingly stroking over Fiddleford’s cock just to feel him twitch under his touch and watch more precum drip onto his stomach. Something about merely feeling this  _ wanted  _ was more than Ford could wish for. The desperate quiver in Fiddleford’s breath refocused Ford and shredded any last scraps of patience he had himself. Fiddleford chewed at his lip and held Ford’s gaze steadily as Ford shifted and pulled him closer. He read the question on Ford’s face and let out a long exhale to steel himself.

“Go ahead. Please.”

Ford continued to carefully study Fiddleford’s face as he pressed into him. Fiddleford’s breath hitched at the pressure. A pause. Another deep breath. Ford hooked an arm around Fiddleford’s leg and cautiously let down more of his weight, eliciting a grimace and hiss through gritted teeth from his lover.

“Alrightalright- slow down n’ stay there a second, wouldja?”

“Okay.”

Fiddleford sucked down a few more steady breaths as he tried to will away the tension and lazily stroked himself, his other hand braced on Ford’s shoulder. Finally, he nodded once. Ford wasted no time and moved, just a bit, with a tiny grunt riding on a quivering breath. He’d nearly forgotten how nice this felt even if it was a very infrequent craving, and it took more self control than he cared to admit to pause and let Fiddleford compose himself before allowing himself to move. Fiddleford snarled and screwed up his face as Ford sunk into him again, deeper this time, and dropped his hand from Ford’s shoulder to ball it into the sheets.

“How is it?” Ford inquired softly.

Fiddleford drew a sharp breath, “Hurts.”

Ford hesitated, a little worried now.

“It’s good.” Fiddleford assured, “Don’t you dare stop. Just keep goin’ slow. I’m gettin’ used to it.”

“Okay.” That was a relief. Ford adjusted, craning over Fiddleford to kiss him deeply, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

A cautious roll of the hips, just a little deeper. Fiddleford whined, bringing both arms up over Ford’s broad shoulders, demanding to keep him close.

“Just like that for now,” Fiddleford huffed. Ford grunted his acknowledgement, grinding into him slowly and returning to kissing along Fiddleford’s neck, sighing as he sucked at the crook of his shoulder. Fiddleford finally seemed to relax more, practically melting against him, “A-alright, go ahead, more,”

Ford obliged, biting down at the crook of Fiddleford’s shoulder. Fiddleford whined again and shifted his legs further apart, letting Ford nearly hilt into him.  _ There. _ Fiddleford nuzzled into Ford’s shoulder with a growl, dragging his hands down his shoulders and digging his nails in as Ford set to a steady cant. It was enough to have Fiddleford seeing stars, and he let one hand drop to stroke his cock again. Ford seemed to be entirely enveloping him with his body at this point, powerful arms braced close to him, one hooked up under his shoulder and six fingers in his sweat-soaked hair, thoroughly letting himself drown in the feeling and watching the pleasure play out over Fiddleford’s face. Fiddleford kissed at Ford’s ear and jaw, holding onto him even tighter and barely stifling the cries that tried to wrench their way up from his chest. 

“Right there,  _ right there- _ !” Fiddleford barely managed to speak between panted breaths, meeting Ford’s eyes and pressing their foreheads together, “I love you, I love you, I love you-” 

Ford caught him in a rough kiss on the edge of a hushed response, an “I love you” that was half sigh, half growl. Another murmur that was barely above a whisper, “I said relax, nobody can hear you, but I want to.” 

Fiddleford’s composure cracked as Ford moved more roughly. He couldn’t keep his leg from jerking, digging little half moons into Ford’s shoulders and moaning into the kiss. He broke away to catch his breath again, no longer bothering to stifle the whines that came between all the panting as Ford hilted into him. 

“Haaah- Stanferd- I,” he broke off, “Please, please- I-, dangit-” 

“Hmm?” it was practically a purr against his ear. 

“I’m really close,” 

“Go ahead.” Ford murmured, breath ruffling his hair, rutting into him a bit faster. 

Fiddleford winced, a gasp and a whine as his hands found Ford’s hair again and knotted into it, “I love you, Stanferd- I love you I love you I love you IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou--!!” trembling, he pulled him down into a rough, uncoordinated kiss, kicking into the filing cabinet next to the bed with a metallic rattle. 

Something in the way Fiddleford’s voice cracked and how he tugged roughly at his hair was enough to spur Ford to his own climax, shuddering with a sigh as he slowed himself, meeting Fiddleford’s kiss. Finally, he broke off, catching his breath and gingerly scooting away only to curl up alongside Fiddleford, gathering him up in his arms and smothering him in kisses. 

“Good?” 

Fiddleford huffed, still catching his breath, “You’re just lookin’ to have your ego fluffed.” 

Ford shot him the faintest hint of a scorned look. 

“Aw, hush, of course it was good. D-dangit, really good, actually.” 

Ford’s beaming grin returned, “Glad to hear it. Anyway, should we work on getting more of our equipment moved down here?” 

“Stanferd,” Fiddleford reached out to take Ford’s forearm as soon as he started moving to get up, “Hold your horses. I know you’re always rarin’ to work,”  _ but not ever quite this fast,  _ “Relax for a minute, we still have all day, and we can prioritize what needs to come down first.” 

Ford grumbled something noncommittal but obliged, Fiddleford immediately wrapping his arms around him, “Well, alright - but just for a little bit!” 

“I’ve wanted to be able to just hold you like this again for awhile, anyway,” Fiddleford murmured. 

Ford let out a contented sigh, “I did miss this. Maybe if we work fast we’ll have time to get back into that DD&MD campaign we started?” 

“That’d be nice. It’s been too long.” The nagging sense something was  _ off  _ about Ford these days dulled a bit again.  _ That  _ was Ford, and the goofy smile he caught on his face from the corner of his eye reassured him again for a moment. He almost wanted to sleep like this, even for a short while, but the knowledge the bunker was nearing completion prompted him to remember the roadblocks they still needed to address as far as ensuring the portal could be safely completed and operated. 

As exciting as that was, it was nervewracking. It’d be nice to forget about it for a minute. 


	26. Always the first star that I find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford is led on an unexpected scavenger hunt   
> Ford is mediocre at making clues

A blaze of irritation shot through Fiddleford as he assessed his box of drillbits. One was missing. Upon further inspection, there was a tightly coiled, tiny piece of paper stuffed where it was supposed to be sitting. He let out a resigned sigh, pulled it out, and unfurled it to be greeted by Ford’s flowy script.

_ It’s time for a break and time for a hunt! _

_ If you’d like your drillbit back - _

_ Find your next hint near a critter taken by a punt _

By a punt? He ran his fingers through his hair, unable to keep back a small smile. Of course Ford pulled this and  _ then  _ chose to go off on a bunch of time-consuming errands. Fiddleford vowed that Ford would certainly be getting an earful as soon as he got home for A.) messing with his drillbits and B.) hiding exactly the one he needed to keep working.

He stared at the paper again. By a punt? His eyes flickered over to the dusty mounted wigeon in the corner of the room. It was his best guess, and sure enough he quickly discovered another small piece of paper poking out from underneath its coverts. He pulled it out and unfolded it.

_ Clever men, aren’t we? _

_ Next one’s easy! _

_ Witchety-witchety-witchety! _

For perhaps the first time, Fiddleford found himself glad for paying attention to songbird calls once in a while, though he questioned why there seemed to be a bird theme taking shape to this whole fiasco. Still, even if he knew the call Ford was referencing, it wasn’t much help - there were common yellowthroats everywhere around here. That was another thing to tell Ford: make his hints a little better next time. Or, rather, never do this again. 

He stepped out onto the porch, wracking his mind for how on earth a yellowthroat call was supposed to lead him anywhere other than everywhere.

“Easy, my eye!” he snorted, putting his hands on his hips and scanning his surroundings. A question quail scuttled past the house and he watched it go by. At least common yellowthroats  _ made sense _ . Well, mostly, but there was the one that…

Bingo! There was the one yellowthroat that nested near the marshy spot a bit past the house and that decided to sing unsettlingly in the middle of the night, right outside his window of all places. Fiddleford could have sworn it made bizarrely knowing eye contact with him on at least two occasions. He shuddered a bit. It was innocuous, as Ford put it, but highly unnerving for reasons unknown and was therefore of interest for banding. He headed in the direction of the little wetland, hoping this would be over with soon. As soon as he arrived, he realized just how futile this would be. Sure, Ford found a tiny nest  _ when it was actually there _ , but right now, it was hopeless. He groaned, digging for his can of dip and popped some into his mouth.

A garbled noise made him jump.

Right. Stomach-faced ducks were a thing here for some reason. He shuddered, looking away from it quickly. Those never got any easier to behold, and the other, more typical ducks that came through the area seemed just as put off by them. He didn’t blame them one bit. Regardless, Fiddleford was determined to recover his drillbit and get back to work. If the yellowthroat sung by his window, perhaps Ford had placed the drillbit there? He sighed and headed back in the direction of the house, but not without a misstep that soaked one of his socks.  _ Great. _

Knowing Ford, he’d almost certainly just stuck the drillbit outside the window or on the sill and would come home and blather something along the lines of “ _ Well I figured you could use some fresh air and- _ “ and proceed to go on at length and laugh haughtily about the whole thing as if he was the greatest thing on God’s green earth for his harebrained pranks and seeming need to be a mildly pretentious nuisance at all times. Fiddleford chuffed in amusement. At least Ford was pretty endearing about it, even with all the tension of as of late. It was good to see him acting more himself, and for that, Fiddleford was grateful. 

Sure enough, as Fiddleford went to inspect it he found a little note tucked under the window.

_ Bet you first checked the marsh _

_ Sorry, that was a little harsh _

_ Your drillbit is nearly within your reach _

_ You’ll be close enough to bite it on the beach _ !

Fiddleford looked flatly off into the middle distance.  _ Of course. _

The only remotely beachlike thing around here was at the lake. He decided he’d play his banjo all night in retribution for this tomfoolery as he set off.

After another few clues, the amusement was beginning to wear off. He’d squandered at least a couple hours by now that could have been better spent getting things done, and with all the rushing Ford was doing lately, he was surprised he seemed so keen on wasting time today.

The next clue he found read:

_ Remember your stag party? _

_ The lights were so pretty _

_ I know of lovelier ones _

_ So follow me, dear! _

What?

Fiddleford was stumped at this one, until he realized he was standing in flattened grass and ferns where deer must have bedded down the night prior. Straight ahead the path they took back into the forest was fairly clear, and he groaned at the dawning realization. Obvious and tacky! Uninspired! Ford was losing his touch for wordplay or was getting lazy in his attempts to force him to burn a few hours. He still couldn’t help but question  _ why _ , though. It was Stanford Filbrick Pines behind this, after all, so of course he had a reason, and one that was probably much more elaborately thought out than it had any right to be.

Fiddleford decided then that he’d earned himself two nights of nonstop banjo. And unlimited puns. Ford would simply have to deal.

Fiddleford cursed under his breath as he continued on through the brush, another branch catching on his sleeve. Whatever the reason, what exactly was Ford putting him up to? And for a drillbit? Maybe he’d grown bored of scrambling his cubic’s cube – he hadn’t done that in some time, now that he thought about it.  _ Oh, great.  _ A new era of terrible pranks was being ushered in. Some afternoon off.

The sun was sinking now, and the towering trees only made the night move in more swiftly. If Ford was shoving him into some untold danger again, he swore he was going to wring his ne-

He stumbled through another stand of young shrubs to be greeted by a little paper lantern glinting warmly on the ground. Looking ahead, there were more, all lining a cleared portion of the old deer trail.

Common sense around Gravity Falls would tell Fiddleford to hightail it away from whatever this was, but it  _ did  _ fit the clue. As a precautionary measure, he still sought out a large stick to brandish before he elbowed his way past the shrubs to follow the path through the ferns and dense, young trees. The ferns opened up to a tiny brook, and the path continued on past it. Fiddleford carefully stepped across the little stones poking out of the water, reminded fleetingly of a worn old memory of slipping on stones on a New Jersey beach and skinning his hands raw. He and Ford had laughed themselves hoarse about the whole fiasco that night.

Another thicket of branches comprised of a stand of wiry young aspens, a bent old birch, and low, tangled juniper stopped him and pulled him from the nostalgic reverie. He shoved his way through to find the sprawling ferns giving way to grass and the forest opening into a clearing that dipped down a little hill to where the brook wended its way by. A shadow was there.

Instinctively, he tightened his grip on the stick, but quickly relaxed. He’d know that silhouette in the half-light anywhere.

He couldn’t keep down a goofy smile as he made his way through the grasses and sedges and last stubborn, terribly out of season flowers of the year, mentally preparing his rant only to find Ford sat on a blanket he’d spread out near the brook.

“I thought you’d never make it!” Ford chirped briskly.

“Yeah, well, I went through hell to figure out your nonsensical riddles – which  _ could _ be better, mind you!” Fiddleford tutted in mock irritation, gratefully taking the drillbit Ford held out to him and stuffing it into his pocket as he assessed the situation, “Wh-, um, what is all this?”

“A break,” Ford grinned, a little sheepish as he rubbed at his neck, “Maybe- maybe a date, if you’d like it to be. Ah-um, this is one of the best spots I’ve found for stargazing short of making the hike up the mountain… But I brought your banjo. And snacks! I made us ham sandwiches and I found some molasses cookies at the store. I bought some maple ones, too. Those are mine, but you can have some, if you’d like, heheh.”

Fiddleford blinked, letting all of this register. Hints of shock played over his features, but were quickly replaced with a giddy smile. He rubbed his sleeve under his eyes and tried to feign a cough as he came over to sit next to Ford, “Heh, well ain’t this somethin’? Thank you.”

“No need,” Ford admonished, “You’ve been exceptionally patient and helpful since you got here, even with all the, erm, mishaps…”

“And here I was worried you were gettin’ sick of me.”

Ford looked back to Fiddleford, “How could I? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve just been stressed.”

“I think we both have been.” Fiddleford let his head rest against Ford’s shoulder, graciously taking the sandwich offered to him and promptly stuffing it into his mouth.

“Yeah,” Ford huffed, “I figured we really did need another break.”

“You’re right,” Fiddleford agreed, trying to abate Ford’s more than obvious tension, “This is nice. You can see the sky really well from here,” he took another bite of his sandwich, shifting to snuggle up against Ford as he studied the stars overhead, “So, how’s Shifty doin’?”

Ford brightened up, “Great! He seems to be comfortable in the kennel I set up in the bunker for now. He’s taken to turning into a sea urchin in protest when I leave! It almost breaks my heart…”

“I still say you oughta freeze that thing. Who knows how big it’s gonna get?”

“Exactly! Why shouldn’t we find out?”

“Precautions, Stanferd, precautions.”

Ford gave a noncommittal grunt, “We’ve been wearing masks around him. He can’t copy  _ us _ , so it’s fine. Besides, he’s cute! If anything goes wrong, or if he turns out to be impossible to train, then alright, we’ll consider freezing him. Sound okay to you?”

“Maybe we can eat hi-“

“-Fiddleford!”

Fiddleford shrugged, “Just sayin’, if things do go south… If he can copy other things right down to a molecular level, why not, hmm, you know?”

Ford scooted away to shoot him an appalled look, clutching at nonexistent pearls.

“Meat’s meat!” Fiddleford argued, gesturing wildly with a laugh. Seeing Ford decidedly not sharing his amusement, his face fell, “I’m sorry. I’m just messin’ with you. I wouldn’t do that, I promise!”

“I think that’s about the meanest joke you ever played on me!”

“You mess with my cubic’s cube, you rearrange my records, you lost my shmez dispenser in the ten minutes you had it, and you steal my drillbits! Headaches is what you give me, headaches and stress, man!”

Ford shrugged in reluctant admission, “Alright, touche. You got me there. But the drillbit theft was worth it, wasn’t it?”

Fiddleford blushed as Ford nuzzled up against him again, “Alright, alright, I admit this is very sweet and you’ve just about charmed my socks off tonight. It’s gettin’ rather airish, though.”

“I brought some of those firestarters we made last week, and I dug a pit out here this morning. Want to get a fire going?”

“I think that’s a good idea. Want me to fetch some stuff to burn?”

Ford shook his head, exchanging a chaste kiss with Fiddleford before getting to his feet, “No, no. Your job is to relax right now. Besides, it’s not like that’s hard to find now that it hasn’t rained in a couple weeks. Just give me a few minutes.”

“If I find more notes and discover there’s another scavenger hunt for me, I’ll tan your hide.”

“I feel threatened by that!”

“You’d better!”

Ford’s laugh cut through the cool air as he set off for the trees again, swishing off through the sedges and into the rusty ferns. Fiddleford sat still for a few minutes. It wasn’t many minutes, though – night here was more unnerving than it had any right to be and he quickly buckled under his own apprehension. He hazarded a nervous glance towards the stand of aspens, then clambered to his feet and hurried after Ford.

“I insist on helpin’ you, actually!”

“Scared?” Ford shot him a devious grin.

“Hush!” Fiddleford hissed, stubbornly taking Ford’s hand, “After all the who-knows-what’s you’ve told me about, that I’ve  _ seen _ ? No thanks! Not interested in bein’ left alone with whatever’s hangin’ out in the shadows!”


	27. Are you what I think you are?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amidst enough existing excitement and stress, Ford finds himself grappling with new worries and doubts in light of some concerns Bill brought to his attention following the elaborate scavenger hunt date. Hoping even Bill can be subject to worry, but fearing that to not be the case, he decides to test the waters of Fiddleford's trust - just a smidge. Compounding matters, despite constant tweaks to the portal's design and updates to the simulations Fiddleford has created, nothing seems to be turning out right, fueling Fiddleford's growing apprehension and Ford's mounting impatience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up that this does touch a little bit on Ford's eye bleeding and such after being possessed by Bill

Fiddleford was skeptical, though thoroughly intrigued, at the prospect of finally seeing what was behind the other door on the way down to the basement.

Ford currently paused in front of it, Fiddleford tailing close behind, and hoped his explanations and excuses had been convincing and that it wasn’t obvious just how apprehensive he felt. Picking through his keyring and selecting the correct key, he finally unlocked it and pushed it open to lead the way inside, nervous to turn and see Fiddleford’s expression.

The quick glance he stole backwards found Fiddleford furrowing his brow and looking quite perplexed as he scanned the room, “So these are, er, religious artifacts, you said?” he inquired, inspecting a worn tapestry depicting Bill’s image hanging on the far wall.

Ford grinned, desperately willing his mother and brother’s lying skills to bless him for just a moment and, at a bare minimum, carry him through spitting out a series of half-truths, “Yes! I’ve been studying the ancient religions that had been practiced in this region, and I’ve repeatedly found this figure depicted.”

“A triangle.” It was more of a flat and unreadable statement than a question.

Ford swallowed, “Yes. Curious, isn’t it? This being i-, seems, like it was revered for its great wisdom. I get the sense it had a jaunty personality in their minds, and was quite formidable.”

Fiddleford scrutinized a set of crystal pyramids on the floor, recalling a similar such thing sitting on Ford’s desk upstairs. He’d passed it off as an artsy paperweight, but now wondered if it was part of these studies, “Right. It’s interestin’ how this sorta imagery pops up across cultures, ain’t it?”

“Precisely!” Ford launched in, “Fascinating the things that unite us and remind us we’re all human, heheh. Once I learn more, I’d be interested to compare across cultures and see what other similarities there may be.”

“I’m inclined to agree. I like findin’ motifs n’ patterns that are near universal,” Fiddleford agreed, shifting his clipboard under his arm, “I find it pretty interestin’ myself.”

Ford nodded happily, pausing to get a better grasp on Fiddleford’s reaction and plan his next words carefully. Fiddleford seemed to be taking this fairly positively, though with that classic, healthy dose of skepticism he usually had. Ford wondered if perhaps now was a good time to reveal Bill’s existence; however, Bill had warned him the time simply was not right and that Fiddleford wouldn’t take to it. Strangely enough, he’d even seemed to be insinuating that Fiddleford wasn’t as strong or noble as he seemed. Ford had decided this little exercise was in order to prove otherwise – Fiddleford was trustworthy, generally understanding, and a hard worker. Bill was a kind friend to look out for Ford, but he couldn’t help but wonder if even nearly-omniscient muses could be paranoid. He hoped it was so, but couldn’t deny the seed of dread that had settled in his mind after his last meeting with Bill. 

“So, what else have you gathered about this thing?” Fiddleford’s question cut into Ford’s ruminations and made him jolt.

“Ah, yes! I-it’s hard to say much, but it seems people believed this being would appear to those it deemed to have a great mind and would inspire them. Like a muse of sorts, I suppose.”

Fiddleford nodded thoughtfully, “Mhm, mhm, intriguing.”

“Heh, it is! Wouldn’t it be something to be chosen?”

“If you buy into black magic, I guess.” Fiddleford snarked, “I think it’s more impressive to rely on one’s own mind, whether you’ve got divine favor or not.”

That seemed to be a drastic turn in tone. Ford had to bite his tongue to resist the urge to spit venom at Fiddleford’s blasé affect.

Fiddleford noticed the fleeting annoyance in Ford’s eyes and questioned why he was so worked up, though in fairness he had always taken his pet projects fairly seriously, “I apologize, I wasn’t tryin’ to be smart with you. You’ve found a lot of artifacts, that’s for sure!”

Ford shrugged, “It honestly hasn’t taken too much effort or extra time, either. I even retrieved a few things during our initial dig for the bunker! After seeing the absolute malarkey the county historical society tries to peddle under the Northwests, I’ve been hesitant to give many things over to them. I’m doing more honest curation here. Now then, with all the struggle and drudgery lately I was planning to organize a bit down here and meditate.”

“I was fixin’ to work out the kinks in the code for the portal’s computers and work on those simulations some more. Somethin’ still just isn’t comin’ out right, so I wanna figure out what we’re missin’ or puttin’ in wrong. How does that sound?”

“Excellent to me. Just, uh, keep the pencil scratching down.”

Fiddleford blinked. Last he recalled, Ford had remarked to him that hearing him writing tended to be calming, so this was new, “Alright. I’ll do my best, at least.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll be ready to help shortly, hopefully after I settle down a bit I’ll be more useful.”

It was about a half hour later when Fiddleford decided he couldn’t take it any longer. Something felt increasingly  _ wrong  _ the longer he was down here and the first spikes of panic were starting to shoot through his veins and stab through his chest. Multiple times, he swore he felt watched by something piercing and malicious that seemed to lay him out and try to dissect him, and upon hearing Ford stir, he shot a glance back at him. He appeared fine, focused but calm where he sat on the floor across the room.

Fiddleford forced himself to continue working, trying to pass the feeling off as his usual anxiety, but it felt different. It was a new kind of dread that bogged him down, one that had come in foggy hints here and there over the past few weeks and that was especially noticeable during the increasingly common, albeit brief, smart-alecky spats he had with Ford. One more hair-raising shiver was the last straw, and Fiddleford determined a short break was in order and headed upstairs to fetch some coffee and check on the portal simulations he had been running.

It wasn’t looking good. This was at least the third time he’d tweaked this model and it  _ still  _ kept spitting out results that indicated the portal would be unstable in its current design. Another round of thinking, harried conversation with Ford, and mulling over calculations and scripts was in order and his nagging anxiety only made his frustrations feel all the sharper. The other model he’d been running for the past day had spat out a series of errors for the second time that week. So it went that for every fix, another bug came a-knocking. He still felt better up here looking at stress-inducing error messages and erroneous readings than he did in that second ‘study’ of Ford’s. Historical deity or not, the thing gave him the creeps and something told him it was best left unknown – a notion he’d never have suggested before. All things were worthy of investigation, but that triangle was best left far away from him.

Fiddleford took a deep breath and a sip of coffee and redoubled his efforts on the first simulation. He figured he must have input some variable or another incorrectly, or made some other ridiculously minute mistake. This was a new trail to blaze, after all, and he had expected it to come with a lion’s share of challenges and headaches. The impressive stack of work Ford had completed a couple nights earlier had proven invaluable and at least gave him what he needed to start finalizing the models and simulations, and Ford seemed all too giddy to hand his work over. He sighed and hoped Ford would bother with sleep tonight.

“How are things looking so far?”

Fiddleford hadn’t heard Ford approaching and jumped in his seat, “Oh, you’re back!”

“Yes. When did you leave?”

“Er…” Fiddleford took a glance at his watch, then looked back to Ford, “About a half hour ago, and to answer your question, it still ain’t lookin’ good.”

Ford grimaced and moved in to see what Fiddleford was looking at. Fiddleford couldn’t help but notice that Ford kept squinting his right eye uncomfortably, almost as if he had an eyelash caught in it.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Fiddleford continued, “I was going to take a look through all our notes once more and doublecheck my code.”

“Don’t you mean quintuple check?”

“…Octuple, if I’m bein’ plainspoken…” Fiddleford pulled a wry smile, “I’m guessin’ I just arranged somethin’ funny or have a small mistake in there somewhere. That’s usually what it is. The model I tried runnin’ on the other computer spat out some errors again so I restarted it, and this one technically _ works _ , but it keeps givin’ wild results that indicate the portal would be part near entirely unstable. I’m hopin’ it’s a mistake given all the updates we made in light of my last findings. I think we ought to have all our bases covered by now, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.” Ford grumbled, looking decidedly annoyed, “Well, find what the error is and then tell me what you find. I can also look it over later, but right now my eye’s giving me a bit of trouble.”

“I thought it looked like it. Eyelash?”

“No, it’s just sore. I think it’s from reading so much and not sleeping, that’s all. Heh, managing to stay chipper the other morning after that all nighter is coming back to bite me, I suppose. Doesn’t help I almost looked directly into your welding arc this morning.”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at the dodgy shift in Ford’s expression. It was similar to the look he gave him the other morning when he handed over the stack of calculations.  _ Peculiar.  _ “Heh, well, I keep tellin’ you to be careful! Quit walkin’ and readin’ before you really get yourself in a mess, I worry about always learnin’ the hard way.”

“I fancy it  _ experiential  _ learning.”

“Do you, now?”

They shared a brief, but good natured chuckle with Ford lightly clasping his hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder for a moment. It was still clear Ford was in a sour mood, though, “Y’know, it might be an eyelash. Feels different from just that headache-y type pain.”

“That’s always the worst.” Fiddleford concurred, “But you get some sleep tonight, that’ll help, too.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“You  _ will _ , you dingbat!”

Ford waved his hand dismissively as he stalked off towards the bathroom. Fiddleford finished one of his adjustments and set the model to run again, then sauntered after him.

“Say, Stanferd, the other night I was havin’ trouble gettin’ to sleep myself, but I hatched up an idea you might be interested in.”

Ford was busy scrutinizing his eye in the mirror, “Uh-huh, what is it?”

“You know how you’ve never been able to capture a picture of that Steve thing that busted up your car when you moved up here?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ford murmured, splashing water up onto his face, “I heard him tromping around out there the other night. I hope he didn’t bother you too much, I think he’s been taking a shining to the compost pile out back.”

“I heard him, too. I just elected to not look out the window. Anyway, I think I have an idea for how we could create a motion-activated camera. We could strap it onto a tree, maybe one out by the compost pile, and hopefully snag a photo of him!”

Ford hissed, scrunching up his face, and quickly clasped a hand over his eye, “That’s incredible, Fiddleford, but we really need to stop wasting our time on just any old thing right now. You could have used that time to work on the simulation script.”

“You hadn’t even given me your calculations yet!”

“…right. But, regardless, you understand my point. Don’t you want to get the portal up and running? We’re so close!”

“O’ course I do!”

“Then why are you wasting precious time on all this frivolous nonsense?”

“ _ Nonsense?!  _ For one, you spent an hour just meditatin’, and, more importantly, you’re the one who told me how badly you wanted a clear observation and record of that thing! I’m tryin’ to consider your other research goals, too, and-“

“ _ Those are all on hold until the portal is finished.  _ Understood?”

Fiddleford froze, completely taken aback by the sudden and uncharacteristic icy bite in Ford’s tone, “U-understood.”

Ford cupped more water to run over his eye, “Save the idea, though. I would like to return to it later. Possibly.”

Fiddleford nodded nervously, that same sense of dread creeping into his bones again. It surged with a new fury when he noticed a slight reddish tinge to the water dripping away from Ford’s face, “H-hun, is that blood?”

Ford waved one hand while drying his face on a towel with the other, “No, no, I don’t think so. Maybe I nicked myself with my fingernail? Either way, it’s fine. I think it was just an eyelash. An ibuprofen for the headache and I’ll be shipshape, okay?”


	28. And good luck with shooting the moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some speculation on the aftermath of the fateful spat at Greasy's the night before the portal test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up for some allusions to abuse re: Filbrick being an asshole

Fiddleford started at the clatter of a plate in front of him. He glanced up shyly to find Susan looking at him with soft concern.

She didn’t wait for him to say anything, “It’s on the house. I know that’s your favorite.”

He forced a smile, “Thank you, ma’am, I appreciate it. I don’t know if I could eat anymore tonight, though.”

Susan hesitated, about to barrel into a round of prodding questions about what had happened, but bit her tongue for now, continuing to try and piece together what she could from the look on Fiddleford’s face. Fiddleford sighed, listlessly poking at the pie she’d brought out. She nodded once, placing her hands on her hips, “I’ll get you a box, then, dear. Is your friend alright?”

Fiddleford could only shrug noncommittally. _Friend. Lover. Stranger. Who knew right now?_ Susan blinked, realizing he wasn’t going to say anything, and stalked off to fetch a box while tutting worriedly to herself. He was usually so cheerful when he came in, if a bit quiet, and whatever hushed argument she saw transpire between him and that other scientist, the usually shyer one, did not look pretty.

Everyone else had cleared out for the night, and Fiddleford realized he’d lost track of just how long he’d been sitting there numbly. As if to add insult to injury, Buddy Holly’s “Empty cup, broken date” was drifting softly through the diner. He shook his head, some paltry attempt to shake up and resettle his thoughts. All of this ridiculous mess was so frustrating. It felt like a million knives stabbing into him and every last thought was gripped in a grim, anxious fog. Something about it felt contradictory and confusing and painful and made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He wondered if there was any way left to talk Ford out of going through with the portal test tomorrow, but if he knew Ford, he knew he was stubborn as a bull. It shocked and stunned him to see Ford repeatedly dismissing his work and warnings. Worse, he’d never seen Ford quite like _that_ before, and worse yet, he lied. He lied right to his face with damning, irrefutable evidence of his dishonesty dangled in front of him, and the look in his eyes this evening was something Fiddleford had never seen before and was not something he ever cared to see again.

Fiddleford sighed again and resigned himself to taking a small bite of the pie. It was painfully sweet. Sweet hurt right now. Ford liked sweet.

The little click of kitten heels on the wooden floor signaled Susan’s return. She set the box down on the table and slid into the booth across from Fiddleford, hazarding a quick glance at the stack of papers that sat next to him on his seat, “Do ya need to talk to someone right now?”

He absentmindedly pulled the manuscript closer to himself, “Yeah.”

“I’m here, hun.”

“Not just anyone.” Fiddleford sighed, “I apologize. I don’t mean to be rude, but I should get goin’ and let you close up.”

Susan pursed her lips, then reached out and squeezed his hand.

Fiddleford froze as her soft hand closed around his and gawked at her with wide, nervous eyes. He couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and jerked out of her grasp, “S-sorry, just, don’t, please. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Susan obeyed, seemingly unfazed, and got back to her feet, “Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out. Ya just looked so sad!”

Fiddleford grunted under his breath, a little embarrassed. _As if I don’t know that?_ He packed up the slice of pie and set a generous tip on the table, pulled his coat over his shoulders, tucked the thick manuscript under it, and headed out with a quick backwards glance, “Thanks for carin’, ma’am. I’ll get on fine. You have a good night, now, and thanks for the pie.”

“No problem, you too! I hope ya get your thingamajig sorted out with your friend.”

“Me, too.” The door clattered shut behind him, the chilly January night air that breezed in making Susan shiver as she watched him go. She tutted to herself, then busied herself with wiping down the last of the tables. 

Ford had just pushed his journal aside when heard the door creak open and slam shut, promptly followed by Fiddleford’s quick, quiet footsteps tracking into the kitchen and the fridge being pulled open and closed. A moment of silence, then another round of quick, quiet-but-growing-louder footsteps that ended right outside Ford’s door. Yet another hesitant pause, and Ford waited, half hoping Fiddleford would move off and leave him in peace for now. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, if anything, and surely nothing kind. Finally, as unfortunately expected, Fiddleford rapped on the door. Ford grit his teeth. 

“Ford.” 

Ford didn’t respond. 

Fiddleford continued, voice level but clearly tense, “I got you some pie. It’s cherry. I put it in the fridge for you.” 

“Why?” 

“’Cause you like pie. Now, can I come in?” 

“Why?” Ford’s reply was even drier than before. 

There was a small sigh from the other side of the door that sent another surge of annoyance through Ford, “I need to talk to you.” 

“You’ve already said everything I’d care to hear from you.” 

Fiddleford sighed again, “Stanferd…” 

There was a heavy pause. Fiddleford fidgeted awkwardly, listening to the rustle of books and papers from Ford’s room before the flat, reluctant reply, “…Fine.” 

Fiddleford shouldered his way in, running his fingers through his bangs and forcing himself to soldier on through his own apprehension. 

Ford didn’t even turn to look at him, “So, what do you want to talk about? How incompetent you clearly think I am?” He jerked as he felt a hand roughly grip his shoulder and tug, urging him to turn his head. 

Fiddleford was staring him down icily, the bright blue only adding to the effect, “Enough, you know I don’t think you’re incompetent. At least give me the respect of lookin’ me in the eye when I’m tryin’ to talk to you about important things. Please tell me, what’s goin’ on?” 

Ford blinked, shifting in his seat and slinging his arm over the back of his chair, “Nothing. Work. Why? What’s going on with _you_? You’ve been acting so jittery and keyed up again lately, and-“ 

Fiddleford held his gaze sharply. Ford wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such a look in his eyes as he spoke, “Don’t try’n weasel out of this. You think I don’t know? What are you hidin’ from me, and why? I’m askin’ you one last time: where are you gettin’ these ideas from? Who are you working with?” 

Ford shook his head and feigned ignorance, “I don’t even-“ 

Fiddleford cut him off again, last shreds of seemingly infinite patience gone, “Stanferd Filbrick Pines, you aren’t dumb. I looked through your journals to put that manuscript together. What else do you think I did?! Writin’ in code? Admittin’ you were hidin’ from me? Who’s this…this…” 

Ford interrupted now, raising his voice. In better circumstances, he might have flinched from how similar he sounded to Filbrick, “Fiddleford, I have my reasons and they ought to be plenty clear to you by now. That was clever of you to set yourself up to sneak in and steal the Grand Unified Theory right out from under me like that! I should have realized you’d changed and become nothing but a coward the second you decided to destroy your own memories rather than face your fears, and I’ve been doubting you stopped doing that.” 

“Don’t change the subject. First off, you really think I’d steal your work?” Fiddleford narrowed his eyes, “We’re in this _together_.” 

Ford raised an eyebrow and scoffed, “Are we?” 

Fiddleford didn’t flinch, continuing to stare him down steadily. Something about it sent a chill through Ford, and he finally cracked under the piercing blue, “Whatever! It still seems apparent that your commitment to this project is waning fast, that, or you’ve become little more than a glory hound and a thief.” Ford paused, trying to study Fiddleford’s face as much as he felt him doing the same, “So which is it?” 

Fiddleford swallowed hard, barely containing himself, “Focus, Ford. Neither! I showed you my calculations. I showed you what the models projected. That portal is dangerous the way it is now, and this whole thing has been scramblin’ your mind! I mean, we _could_ potentially still pull this off, but we need more time, and you need to-“ 

“Oh, shove it up your ass.” 

“Are you blind?!” 

“Are you?!” 

They stood stock still, glaring each other down like bristling, tail-whipping tomcats poised for a brawl. Fiddleford drew a deep breath, turning away to pace around the room and tug at his bangs. Ford got to his feet. 

“Fiddleford, why the hell should I trust you anymore, anyway? You erased your own memories, for one, and looking back I’m sure you did it to me, and who knows who else! You never destroyed that gun, did you?” 

“I-“ 

Ford blustered on, “And furthermore, you took my journals without my permission. You insulted me and showed complete disregard for my vision for the publication. You cheated on your wife with me. What else? You’re little more than a cowardly, selfish liar like every other goddamn person in my life. I just can’t believe I was such a fool that I didn’t see it sooner.” 

That did it in. Ford didn’t even have time to blink before Fiddleford had whipped around with a snarl, hand colliding so hard with Ford’s face it sent his glasses clattering to the floor. They froze again, time seeming to slow down around them and draw out each heartbeat as Ford brought his hand to his smarting cheek, now red with the impact. 

Fiddleford dropped his hands and deflated, lip quivering with words he couldn’t get out and eyes wide in shock with himself. 

Ford shifted his jaw, willing away the shock of old and childish fear the act shot through him. The desire to crumple redirected itself into a low burning rage though his hands still quivered. He tasted blood in his mouth, feeling where his lip had broken on his teeth as he raised his gaze to stare daggers into Fiddleford and dropped his voice to a low, guttural murmur that just barely cracked, “I can’t believe you right now.” 

“Apparently, you never can.” Fiddleford shot back, slowly overcome with resignation as tears pricked at his eyes, “Stanferd, I gave up _everything_ for you.” 

“What?” 

Fiddleford pinched the bridge of his nose, then met Ford’s eyes pleadingly, “Stanferd, honey, I-“ he faltered, “I left Tate and Emma-May behind to be with you and come help you with all this, and then I fell in love with you all over again, or maybe realized I never stopped feelin’ that way… But all this time I’ve been here, I’ve been watchin’ you change into somethin’ you ain’t. I came clean to Emma-May. She left me, and she had every right to. She won’t let me talk to Tate. I told her I’m a liar and a cheat and a worthless sack of shit that couldn’t contain myself around you. Better? Does that make you feel any better? I don’t know if my family knows. I begged her not to, but she probably told them, and I probably lost them all. I left my own business behind. I left my job behind. I left the few good friends I made behind. I stayed up countless hours when you’d fallen asleep to keep workin’, because I wanted to see this through. I stayed up three nights straight on nothin’ but coffee and determination and worry to get that manuscript banged out for you, even as all the evidence was pilin’ up that my suspicions were correct all along and you _were_ different, that you _were_ deceivin’ me, and…” 

Ford listened grimly, pushing his glasses up on his nose again before crossing his arms, “And what?” 

“All I wanted was for you to be safe and happy. I’d give up my soul for that. And now, I’m lookin’ at you and when I really look, I’m scared that I hardly know who you are anymore!” 

Ford bristled, “Don’t try to flatter and sweet talk me, I’ve no patience for it.” 

“I’m not! When have I ever… just, nevermind. Nevermind any of that. It doesn’t matter. I’ll tear up the manuscript if you really want me to, it’s your work and your decision, after all. But please, please, I’m beggin’ you as your colleague, your friend, and your partner, just look at my calculations again and reconsider all this-“ 

“-Tomorrow evening. Eight o’clock. Whatever your intentions, you’ve stalled this project _enough_ times already and my decision stands, with or without you. Besides, it’s merely a test. It’ll be fine, I know it will.” 

Fiddleford, at an utter loss, couldn’t keep the stinging tears from spilling over now. Something seemed to soften in Ford’s face, just for a moment, and Fiddleford saw his arm tense as if he was about to reach out and take his hand. He didn’t. Fiddleford barely bit back the sob that almost wracked him, “I’m going to bed. I’m sorry.” 

“No, not just yet, I-“ 

“Ford…” 

They regarded each other for a beat. 

Fiddleford started again, pulling his gaze away from Ford’s quivering hands, “Please, even if you think I’m crazy, even if you think I’m too hesitant or weak-willed or however else you want to regard me, please, please know I’d never be tryin’ to steal this from you. I don’t care if I get any credit whatsoever anymore. You take your fame and all your adulation if it makes you happy, just don’t be reckless, and please don’t forget that I love you.” 

“It’s been a lot of work. We’ve both been extremely stressed and tired.” Ford assured, only half acknowledging Fiddleford’s words, “We’ve really been burning the candle at both ends for awhile now, huh? But this will all be worth it come tomorrow, and we need to do this, fear be damned! If people never took a leap of faith, we’d never have any great discoveries, no history or progress would ever be made! Would it make you feel better to quintuple check that everything’s in working order tonight?” 

Fiddleford gave him a tired but scathing look, “I already have, so you can check again, if you want. But get some sleep. I’m going to bed.” 

Ford blinked and grit his teeth at the bitterness in Fiddleford’s voice, all that doubt and irritation creeping back in, “Fine. I’ll do it myself. _For you._ Will you even be there tomorrow?” 

“I’ll think on it. You should, too.” Fiddleford muttered, “We’ll see where things are at in the morning. Goodnight.” 

Ford only grunted noncommittally and turned back to his desk, but cast a brief glance at Fiddleford as he disappeared and pulled the door shut behind himself.


	29. And you told me this was the hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions continue to be high throughout the day leading up to the portal test  
> Breakfast for lunch is a nice touch, though

Fiddleford was already in the basement when Ford came down, coffee in hand. A small inkling of worry that Fiddleford was here to sabotage the portal nagged at him at the sight.

“Morning.”

Fiddleford gave a curt wave from where he was inspecting some wiring, “Mornin’”.

Ford set his coffee aside, passing Fiddleford to begin flipping through the journals over at the little desk, “So, you did decide to show up after all.”

Fiddleford got to his feet and offered a weak smile when Ford turned back to him, “How could I not? I’m not lettin’ you do reckless things all by your lonesome. I’ve been lookin’ everything over before we set to really startin’ things up… then we should at least be able to avoid shortin’ out the whole town this time.” _Or plumb shredding reality, for that matter._

Ford nodded, taking a glance at where Fiddleford had been working, and noticed with relief there were only improvements to be found and no noticeable signs of foul play, “I’d sure hope so. The last thing I want is to draw any unwanted attention.”

“I hear ya,” Fiddleford chewed at his lip, bouncing his heel rapidly.

It didn’t escape Ford’s notice, “Still worried?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Jitters are one thing, but I can’t change math in a night. One last time-“

“Save it.” Ford interrupted sternly, “I’m willing to take the risk. Neither of us is going in today, and we can shut it down if anything seems amiss. That’s the entire point of a test.”

Fiddleford swallowed hard, throat uncomfortably dry. Though he wasn’t fond of the hint of condescension in Ford’s attempt at comfort, he knew it would be fruitless to argue Ford down once he was determined, “Okay. Let’s just take it easy and be careful.”

“We will, we will. Even I’m not going to be that reckless about something like this.”

 _Keep tellin’ yourself that._ Fiddleford forced himself to bite his tongue, “Roger.”

“So, what say we get this baby fired up and make a little history?”

“Let’s do it.”

The rest of the morning passed in relatively tense silence, Ford and Fiddleford making their last rounds to ensure nothing was out of place before finally flipping the switches that would start up the immense device. Fiddleford felt his heart drop as he flipped the last switch and the timer began its countdown. Nothing worthy of concern seemed to happen, but he couldn’t help but hold his breath. He made meticulous work of checking and dutifully recording each monitor’s readings, then raised his eyes to look through the reinforced glass at the portal. The enormous metal triangle loomed ominously in the yawning cavern that passed as a basement and weighed him down with an unshakeable dread. He shifted his clipboard into the crook of one arm and checked his watch.

“About time for lunch?” Ford inquired.

Fiddleford nodded, “I don’t know if we’d be wise to leave it unattended, though. This is our first test, after all.”

“It’ll be fine. Everything is looking stable, isn’t it?”

“Yes, for now, but the thing’s hardly ready to go right now. If my projections were correct, once it really gets goin’, it could very well mess with gravity at least in our immediate vicinity, and there’s no tellin’ how strong or weak that effect could be.”

Ford chewed at his lip thoughtfully. That consideration felt a little more weighty now that the damn thing was actually _on._ He figured food would probably help abate his jitters, “Right. Well, I don’t know about you, but I think we’ve more than earned ourselves a good meal for our last few hours as nobodies. We’ll be right upstairs, and you have that laptop showing you all the gauges and monitor readings, so it should warn us if anything gets out of hand.”

“Well, yes, it _should_ …”

Ford smacked him gruffly on the back, “Then no need to worry. Let’s go and we can hurry back down. I know I’m itching to.”

Fiddleford was reluctant, but Ford did have a point. Working on terribly little sleep was bad enough, and adding hunger onto that wouldn’t be helpful in the slightest – that is, if he could push himself to eat. He cast one last nervous look at the portal, flinching slightly at the silver-blue arc that sparked across it, then packed up his laptop and followed Ford into the elevator.

Breakfast for lunch seemed like a celebratory choice, along with some cornbread Fiddlefod had made a few days prior. Ford was just about to continue wolfing down his sizable stack of pancakes in between quips to Fiddleford when the first effects of the portal and the soundness of Fiddleford’s models made itself known. Ford stared owlishly at the pancakes, now hovering slowly up past his face.

“Um, Fidds…”

Fiddleford was gawking, wide-eyed, at a piece of bacon currently drifting past his eyes as he rose with it, “Y-yep?”

Ford didn’t get a chance to continue. As suddenly as it happened, gravity returned and all came crashing down. Ford moved his leg in just the wrong way and knocked his chair out the way, sending himself collapsing to the floor as his fork skittered past him across the wood, a loud crash signaling the return of everything to earth.

Fiddleford had narrowly managed to avoid a similar fate, but was tense and frozen, eyes bugging out of his head and knuckles white with the grip he had on the seat of his chair, “Ford, are- are you okay?!”

Ford took a moment to register what had just happened, shook his head, and burst into uproarious laughter, “Did you see that?! Remarkable! I wonder if that was localized to the house or if they felt that in town. Oh…” he trailed off as a grim realization dawned on him, “I hope none of my lab equipment broke.”

“When a centrifuge costs more than you’re worth, I don’t blame you.” Fiddleford agreed, trying to calm himself as he hurried to check the laptop. Sure enough, it was flashing a warning about a gravity anomaly. In the easy conversation that had so thankfully started to flow between them again, neither of them heard the initial alert tone. The warning disappeared and left a black screen, but shortly after another timer started up with a similar warning.

Fiddleford knotted his fingers into his bangs, steadying his breathing, “Alright, thankfully that was little more’n a hiccup, but these could get worse as the portal powers up. I think I can do something to minimize effects like this, though, uh,” he shifted from foot to foot uncertainly, pattering out a beat on his thighs as he debated with himself mentally, then finally bolted for the elevator, “Come on! I have an idea!” 

Ford hustled after Fiddleford, swallowing another mouthful of pancake and coat flowing behind him, “Wait! I want to see if the bottomless pit is affected by this!” 

“ _Now is not the time!_ ” 

“How is it not the time? This is exactly the time!” 

Fiddleford rounded on Ford and shot him a stern look, inadvertently backing him against the wall of the elevator, “You said you didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves, right? If they felt this in town, or if someone sees a bunch of floatin’ stuff around here, it’s gonna be no time before cops, or worse, the government, come sniffin’ around! I also ain’t keen on you gettin’ sued for property damages or somethin’ if we get caught!”. They paused for a fleeting moment, eyes locked searchingly and breaths quavering. At that, the elevator door opened, and Fiddleford turned on his heel and tore off, Ford in hot pursuit and blushing far more than he’d like to be. Maybe Bill really was the one worrying too much, as strange as that seemed. 

Fiddleford continued on as he worked a screw out of a panel at an impressive speed, making short work of the remaining three, “Y’see, a few weeks ago I came up with this thingamajig which should help regulate and even out its effects on gravity and prevent them from gettin’ more frequent, since the last thing we need is this happening when we’re out on the floor tonight. Now, this hooks right up to the main circuit and it’s gonna use up a lot of power which is why I wanted to wait and see before usin’ it, but it’s got these switches here. Now, I apologize in advance for your electric bill - I’m gonna flip these two, and I need you to go and crank only that second dial on the main control board. That one should get us up and runnin’ here without shovin’ a bunch more power through the portal itself.”

“On it!” Ford moved over to the dial in question, now dreading the oncoming electric bills even more than he thought physically possible. He couldn’t help but wince as he turned it up. Fiddleford fussed with a few more things behind the panel and replaced it quickly, then checked the laptop again and started punching away urgently at a few keys. Ford stared out at the portal, which was now glowing a pale silver-blue that was quickly becoming near blinding in the center. As much as it hurt to look at, it was impossible to turn away from. Transfixed, he reasoned he wouldn’t mind being blinded by something so strange and wonderful. 

“I got it! We’re golden.” Fiddleford announced triumphantly, “We’ll get a couple tiny hiccups over the next few hours, but they’ll be much more muted than what happened just now. Fingers crossed.” 

Ford nodded his acknowledgement, not taking his eyes off the portal. His heart soared. Finally, after all this stress, after all the hangups and headaches and years of walking in circles trying to make sense of this town, of his own life, of anything, it was all coming together. 

The seconds seemed to drag on as eight o’clock drew nearer. Fiddleford was more wound up than he’d ever felt in his life, he was sure of it, and the alert that the portal was ready to go filled him with equal parts excitement and trepidation. On the bright side, he’d figured out how to get the bracer he’d created a few weeks prior synchronized with the portal’s monitors, something he figured was far more convenient than the laptop. While Ford marched out of the observation room, proud and chest puffed, Fiddleford walked stiffly to the side and a few paces back from him, mannequin in tow. He watched as Ford tied the rope securely to it, heart hammering in his chest. Ford met his eyes and reached out to squeeze his hand, “Deep breath. And for the record, I’m glad you’re here with me. Everything will make sense, I promise.” 

Fiddleford desperately wanted to trust that, but couldn’t shake his doubts, “Okay. I love you.” 

“I love you, too. Alright, enough skylarking! Let’s get to it!” 

He couldn’t help but notice that Ford didn’t kiss him.


	30. It's hell on the bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exploration of the possible aftermath of Fidds storming off after being pulled through the portal.

Ford stared grimly up at the silver-blue glow of the portal. Finally, he huffed a sigh and reluctantly shut it off in hopes of minimizing the already inevitably gargantuan electric bills to come. As it were, even just the test nearly sapped all the fuel in one shot - another problem that needed to be addressed. He cast one long look over his shoulder at the hulking, dull gray triangle, then reluctantly made his way back upstairs. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to Fiddleford after he stormed off, and almost hoped he wouldn’t encounter him. Despite that, Ford felt an uneasiness rapidly sinking its claws into him as he tracked through each room in turn and found no trace of his assistant. He was nowhere to be found on the main floor, nor in the attic, and it became increasingly clear from the small whirlwinds of clutter scattered throughout a few rooms that he’d snatched up only a handful of his possessions and made off in haste.

Ford snarled under his breath, worries and fears replaced with rage again. Typical. Everyone ran off eventually. Nobody had the guts or commitment to stay near him and hardly a human existed that could surmount the difficulties posed by daunting work like this. All people, every last one of them, always turned out to be wishy-washy, spineless, lying, disloyal-

Ford caught himself running that thought into the ground for the umpteenth time in the past twenty minutes and took a deep breath, cursing himself for not listening to Bill a long time ago. He hadn’t heeded his increasingly frequent warnings about Fiddleford right away and had even dismissed them, and for what? Stupid  _ feelings _ ? Valuing Fiddleford’s friendship, and worse, being in  _ love _ ? In retrospect it was embarrassingly pathetic and base. Ford figured he should have put himself above such things a long time ago. All that kind of nonsense seemed to do was hold great people back and leave others burned, or, in this case, both.

Fiddleford had looked so terrified. The slightest twinge of uneasiness worked its way back into his mind when he recalled the cold shock on his face and the shake in his voice. It was ten times as haunting as how he looked after his unfortunate run-in with the Gremloblin and the image kept drifting back into his mind no matter how hard he fought to dismiss it. 

Ford snorted. It didn’t matter. Fiddleford was scared of everything, anyway, wasn’t he? Even Bill warned him that he was a weak person, and Bill wouldn’t have made that up. Ford faulted himself for taking that comment as little more than an insensitive joke instead of the cautionary advice it was. It would have saved him a lot of pain and trouble to have heeded those words. 

A loud  _ clunk _ from outside pulled Ford from his thoughts and he headed for the door to investigate. Fiddleford had just slammed his trunk shut and was muttering rapidly under his breath as he drummed his hands across the metal of the car in a disjointed almost-rhythm. He pulled his hands through his hair hard and turned, freezing like a deer in headlights as he locked eyes with Ford. 

Fiddleford’s expression was a terrified, broken plea:  _ Why _ ? 

Ford shot back a venomous look.  _ Why?  _

And like that, Ford was left watching someone once dear recklessly tear off in a car again. It was poetic to him, in a sick, sad way. Everything played out the same. 

His head started to ache, a thousand hushed voices creeping in like snaking tendrils closing in on the edges of his awareness and louder and harsher than the staticky noise that filled his ears in the basement earlier.. He tried to dismiss them, they had to just be stupid memories trying to push through, all mixed up on a cocktail of stress and adrenaline. A little writing would settle his mind. The portal was finished and anything else was disposable at this point. 

The hushed, harsh whispers started to speak.  _   
_

Ford’s blood went cold. 

  
  


Fiddleford wasn’t entirely sure of where he was going. Chunks of time would escape him and any semblance of a sense of reality lapsed dizzyingly in and out. A strangely dry kind of terror gripped him. He couldn’t cry as much as he desperately wanted to. It all came flashing through his head again in time with the rhythm of towering, dark trees being illuminated in his headlights and the thick blanket of clouds overhead halfheartedly sputtered out huge, wet snowflakes that stuck and melted on his windshield. He could hardly make sense of what he’d seen  _ wherever  _ he was, wherever the portal led, but he kept struggling to, kept fighting to make sense of Ford’s deception – deception that had gone on for  _ months _ ! Had Ford been a liar his whole life?

Nausea stabbed through him and he pulled off to the side of the road to retch, gasping for air as he stumbled to slump against a tree. His vision wasn’t helped any by the heavy snowflakes now sticking to and melting on his glasses, creating a blurry kaleidoscope and an apt representation of how his head felt right now. He gathered himself mentally and struggled to hold a string of thoughts well enough to make a plan. He wasn’t even sure where he could go – there was no way to stop whatever Ford was after at this point, and Emma-May surely wouldn’t welcome him home in California, though perhaps others would consider it…

Even if old friends in California welcomed him back, at what cost? What about the people in Gravity Falls? They were the ones in immediate danger, and there was still no telling what else could happen. Fiddleford turned and banged his forehead against the rough bark of the tree, frustrated in his helplessness and barely able to choke out a few breathless sobs. What  _ could  _ he do? The only person he could ask for help was Ford, and that was impossible for obvious reasons.

What if this had repercussions for the entire earth? What about Emma-May, then, and Tate? It didn’t matter a lick if she hated him, that was all irrelevant when it came to their safety. He dug his hands into the bark of the tree until even his calloused fingertips bled. He raked them down the trunk of the huge fir with a cut off hiss and sighed, nearly slipping on the sleet slicking the rocks underfoot as he got back into his car, attempted to wipe his glasses off as best he could, and set off for town.

Fiddleford brought his car to a far rougher stop than normal at the first payphone he saw, swearing under his breath when he jerked and hit the curb. Nobody seemed to be around, so hopefully nobody saw. He hurried into the payphone booth and fumbled for change with shaking hands, then managed to push the quarters in and enter his home number. The cold was seeping in now, only making him more uncomfortable, and making matters worse it seemed the number had changed. He decided to try something else, then, perhaps a call to the neighbors, but no matter how hard he wracked his mind he couldn’t recall their numbers – not Leroy’s, not Dana’s, not Ernie’s, or even Betty Lawson. He reckoned the next best thing would be the Dixon household in Tennessee. They could at least put a message through to Emma-May. That number was effortless to remember and stuck in his head as clearly as a familiar song even after all these years. 

He fidgeted restlessly while it rang.

“Hello?” Mrs. Dixon grimaced, blinking the sleep from her eyes. The voice seemed familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it, and it was anyone’s guess as to who would be calling at this hour. 

“Mrs. Dixon?”

“Speaking.” She was caught for a moment between worry and irritation, “…To who do I owe the pleasure of such a late call?”

Fiddleford ignored the tired annoyance in her voice, “Fiddleford. Could I please get Emma-May’s number from you? I’ve got to get through to her,”

A pause, “Why?”

“I just do. I need to. Please. As soon as you can. It’s urgent!”

Mrs. Dixon seemed hesitant, a slight bite coming into her tone, “She moved back here all heartbroken and you want to just come chasin’ after her by callin’ at damn near one in the mornin’? What even happened with that? She won’t say a word to me and-“

“That ain’t important, I’m not chasin’ after her, I just have a message I really need to get through to her. Just, please, listen to me, I don’t have much time left! I have to- I just- just listen to me, please, please,”

“What’s the emergency? I can j-“ she was abruptly cut off, and Fiddleford heard some muffled chatter in the background he couldn’t quite make out. The anticipation was killing him and he knotted a hand roughly into his bangs, bouncing his knee rapidly and thumping his heel against the ground hard. The voice that answered him next was a new, worried one, and just the one he wanted to hear.

“Fiddleford? Why on earth are you callin’ my mama’s place this late?”

“Em! Oh thank goodness. Please, please don’t hang up on me. This is urgent!”

Emma-May huffed, rubbing at her eyes, “What? I thought you were with your bo-“ she paused and cast a quick look over her shoulder to verify the room was clear, lowering her voice and letting a little venom creep into her tone, “I thought you were with your boyfriend in Oregon.”

“I-“ Fiddleford faltered, “Em, it’s complicated, but I just needed to tell you and Tate to be careful and to stay safe. Your folks, too, and mine, and everyone. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, but I made a serious mistake. Ford’s not what he seems.”

She blinked, registering his words with effort, “Huh? What nonsense are you on about?”

“I’m dead serious! I don’t know, but somethin’s comin’ and it ain’t good, and it might just be the end- the end of the world. I’m honestly, genuinely certain of it. I wouldn’t pull your leg on this!”

“Fiddleford, you’ve been watchin’ too much news again. If we’re gonna get nuked, we’re gonna get nuked and that’s that. And I don’t know what Stanford would have to do with that.”

“Emma-May,  _ please _ listen to me! It’s not that! It’s something so much worse, and I don’t even know what to do, but maybe if you can- If you can hide, or just make sure, just, god-goddamnit, I-I-I can barely think straight, here! Em, shoot, I went through and I saw somethin’. There were monsters, and it was, it was… there was this- I don’t know! But I think it knows Ford, may as well be the devil himself! I don’t know what to tell you to do, but just pay attention to eyes, and don’t trust anyone! Not a soul! Y’hear me? Do y’hear me, Em?”

“Fi-“

“-Please, please… Can I talk to Tate? Just for a minute, I just want to tell him I love him before-“

“ _ Fiddleford _ ! Wait. You went through what?”

“A portal! It goes to another dimension, or it’s supposed to, but there was all this… I-I already said I don’t know how to describe it. I can’t explain it, but it’s going to destroy everything!”

Emma-May pursed her lips, at a loss for how to process this. This was uncharacteristic, even for Fiddleford, but this was perhaps the most wild and out there yarn she’d ever heard, “You’re really pullin’ some kind of gimmick like this to talk to Tate? Is that it? Come off it, I didn’t expect somethin’ like this out of you. What on earth are you doin’? Are you on somethin’ right now?” 

“ _ Emma _ !”

“What, did he break up with you? Where are you now?”

“No, I mean, yes, but that’s not the point! It’s not about Ford, it’s about somethin’ so much worse. We- we were buildin’ this portal y’see and I kept  _ tellin’  _ him it was bad news, it was gonna fail or cause problems, destroy things, and I thought my math said it was risky enough already, but then today, I got yanked right through and Ford got me back but, but,  _ argh _ !”

“Fiddleford, get it together! I can hardly understand a word you’re sayin’ you’re babblin’ so fast! Whatever weird drugs y’all are doin’ out there with-“

“-Please, I only have a little more time and I just want to talk to Tate before-“

“While you’re clearly out of your mind on God knows what? Call me back when you’re sober or can speak a coherent goddamn sentence. You really want to talk to your son like that?”

“Em,  _ PLEASE _ \- Urgh, just watch out for eyes, and- and triangles, okay? I don’t really- but, but the beast- Dangit, I don’t know! I’m sorry!”

Emma-May pushed away her concern.  _ Triangles? A beast?  _ That did it in, and though it hurt, this scenario was less than impressive. Sad, even. She heaved a rough sigh, “Fiddleford, get yourself straightened out. I’m not talkin’ to you like this.”

Fiddleford tried to yell into the phone again, but only got the telltale beeping that said she was gone. Though the sound was low, that repetitive beat made him freeze up and cast a quick, furtive glance around himself. He gathered himself enough to hang up the phone, hesitated for a moment, and snarled, punching the wall of the booth. 

Wrong arm to do that with. A surge of agony shot up through his forearm, the feeling swallowing up his bones and sparking across his knuckles. Instinctively, he shook his hand out, only sending another spike of pain through the limb. 

He had to do something, anything, and fast. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this pretty casually as field season for my work gets rolling and just having some fun, so it might be a bit messy in spots - just a head's up.


End file.
